


Lust for Life

by nightflutterheart



Category: True Blood
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Slow Burn, Vampire Politics, Vampires, blood bonds, vampire customs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightflutterheart/pseuds/nightflutterheart
Summary: --Set between S3 & S4, during the year of Sookie's disappearance--Sasha Buckley was just trying to get away; instead she got stranded somewhere outside the small town of Bon Temps, LA. All she wanted to do was get her car fixed and get back on the road, but being ferried into town by the dangerous and enigmatic Eric Northman was only the beginning of a series of strange occurrences that the town of Bon Temps seemed to attract. Now that she's stuck there, she might have to face her past--and not the most recent one she's running from.Eric just wants to know how a girl that smells so delicious and knows so much about vampires isn't claimed.





	1. A Stranger Comes to Town

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome! Let me know what you thought of this story!

_Look out of any window_

_any morning, any evening, any day!_

_Maybe the sun is shining,_

_birds are winging_

_or rain is falling from a heavy sky._

_What do you want me to do,_

_to do for you, to see you through?_

_For this is all a dream we dreamed_

_one afternoon long ago._

_What out of any doorway,_

_Feel your way, feel your way_

_Like the day before_

_Maybe you’ll find direction_

_Around some corner_

_Where it’s been waiting to meet you,_

_What do you want me to do,_

_To watch for you while you’re sleeping?_

_Well please don’t be surprised_

_When you find me dreaming too._

_—_ Box of Rain, Grateful Dead

 

“… _find me dreaming too_!” Sasha Buckley belted out the last line of Box of Rain as the city of Shreveport, Louisiana faded in the dust of her cherry red ’69 Chevy Camaro. Wind whipped over the convertible as the perfect natural air conditioning, cutting through the heavy summer air and tossing her long mane of curls over her shoulders. As she began humming the bars of the next song on her mix tape, Sasha’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, checking as they had periodically for any suspicious cars. There were none. Satisfied, her eyes flicked back to the open stretch of road ahead of her, then back to the mirror. This time she focused on her appearance.

            For someone that had been driving for some thirty odd hours or so, she didn’t look half as bad as she felt. Not even a full two days out of Los Angeles and her café au lait skin had tanned, the honeyed tone darker than it had been in the past few years she’d spent mostly out of the sun. Where her skin had darkened her hair had lightened, and as Sasha fluffed her ringlets, she found she wasn’t at all mad. The new honeyed, blonde tones in her hair would have cost her a fortune at a salon. It was merely irony that she was getting more sun away from LA, and now her body was eagerly soaking it all in.

            The radio’s sound became garbled, and she switched it to radio, fiddling with the dial for a moment until she found a clear station.

            _“…back now with Senator Andrews. Senator, you’re known to be a moderate—more moderate than our state’s past senators, at least. Still, you’ve always been known to speak out on issues you feel strongly about. While you openly condemned the domestic vampire terrorist Russell Edgington just days ago after his attack, you haven’t been quite so clear on your views on the VA. Will you support this new amendment? And after so many of your constituents beg otherwise?”_

Sasha’s hand hovered on the dial for a split second. Then the familiar voice of Senator Christopher Andrews came streaming out of the radio, complete with that Louisiana drawl that had charmed so much of the nation. Sasha scoffed.          

_“That’s an excellent question, Cindy. And I know this is one many viewers at home are also asking. The thing is, it’s easy to condemn a terrorist. Because that’s what Russell Edgington is. But I think it’s dangerous to condemn an entire group of people based on the actions of a deranged man—vampire. Now, vampire representative Nan Flanagan called me personally to assure me that her camp is just as appalled as we are—and furious. They too fully condemn Edgington’s actions. They aren’t going to stop until he is captured and persecuted to the fullest extent of the law. I think that, in the wake of this tragedy, this will be an opportunity for the vampires to prove that they intend to follow through with what they’ve been pledging for the last two and some years. From my understanding, Edgington is an old and important figure for them; if they are willing to bring him to justice, I think it will speak volumes about their intentions. It would certainly be favorable to me, Cindy.”_

            “ _Thank you for your words, Senator. We have Sandy Atwell from New Orleans on the line now—”_

Scoffing once more, Sasha flicked the radio dial again. The Good Senator, The People’s Senator, as he’d recently been nicknamed, came across to many as moderate, even progressive for a republican senator of a red state, but Sasha saw right through him. He liked his position, and whether or not he believed in what he said, he’d play all sides for as long as it benefitted him. He wouldn’t outright condemn vampires because there was no business in that, just as there was no business in outwardly approving of them. He was, in the end, what most politicians were.

            A coward.

            His celebrity had recently shot up as the nation’s spotlight had turned onto Louisiana after the vampire Russell Edgington had violently murdered a news anchor on television. There was still a warrant out for his arrest, but Sasha knew that vampires had probably already apprehended him. Humans wanted justice, but she could imagine that the AVL was doing everything it could to stop Edgington from further impeding their cause. It was impossible to watch the news these past few days without AVL rep Nan Flanagan’s face on it.

            She wasn’t sure what the situation was in any case, only knew that it was definitely more than it appeared. Most humans didn’t know that that he wasn’t just any vampires; he was the Vampire King of Mississippi. She knew his reputation, and she also knew that a vampire nearly three thousand years old didn’t suddenly just lose it. Between the vampires and her own personal dislike for the state, Sasha had been perfectly content to drive around it. Multiple detours had forced her to drive through its Northern portion anyway.

            Sasha adjusted the reflective aviators before they slipped too far down the bridge of her nose, then reached down the bench for her bag, hand searching for a moment before she came up with her prize. She fiddled with the pack of Native American Spirits in her lap, finally wrestling a cigarette free and popping it into her mouth.

            She continued to sing around the cigarette as her hand jammed into the front pocket of her daisy dukes for her lighter. That was when Camaro decided to give an undignified cough.

            The lighter forgotten, Sasha frowned down at the muscle car as it gave one last wheezing gasp and then died out on her.

            “Fucking _how_?” she murmured to herself. The car, unfortunately, had no answer for her.

            Mumbling obscenities to herself, Sasha wrangled her wild mass of curls into a knot on top of her head. Already, now that she wasn’t moving, the Louisiana heat and humidity was getting to her, reminding her of a decade ago when she’d sworn to never again step foot in the damned state. There was a lot about it that she didn’t like, and the infernal summers weren’t even the half of it. Beads of sweat began collecting on her skin like dew on grass, and it was with a great sigh that she stepped out of the Camaro.

            Sasha spent a good fifteen minutes staring under the hood of the Camaro. She didn’t touch anything, because Sasha couldn’t even put a chain back on a bicycle if it came loose without fucking some other part of it up, but she didn’t have to be an expert to know that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the Camaro. Eoin, whom she’d… _borrowed_ the cherry-chromed beauty from, was something of an expert unlike her. He kept his cars in tip-top shape, and she’d never heard of any of his vehicles ever needing anything beyond typical maintenance or upgrades for parts that became updated. There was simply no way that the car would just give up on her like this. No way.

            Still, it was easy to believe that she didn’t really know what she was talking about, and just because there was still a tank full of gas and nothing _obvious_ looked broken, that something might be wrong with her ride after all.

            “The hell do you know anyway?” she muttered to herself, heading back to the car. She reached for water she’d picked up when she’d stopped for gas some forty miles back, nose crinkling as it hit her tongue lukewarm. She’d just have to call for someone to come tow it.

            Grabbing her bag, Sasha searched for her phone. But when she flipped the thing open, it was dead. Her car charger was mysteriously absent.

            Sasha stared at her phone for a long moment, then back to the car. Certainly a coincidence, that her car had broken down and that her phone was inexplicably kaput. She reminded herself that she was on I-20, that it had to be pretty heavily trafficked, and that she’d only have to wait to flag down a car and ask to borrow a phone.

            The late afternoon sun made the wait hell. It beat down hot and hard on her, and even when she found shade by pulling up the Camaro’s roof, Sasha found that she burned up by sitting in the car. The little water she had left was too hot to be refreshing, and the heat didn’t make her snacks appetizing. Out of the Camaro wasn’t any better; the sweltering heat rose up from the asphalt, slowly roasting her.

            Some two hours came and went, and not a single car drove past Sasha. Her suspicions swelled to the forefront of her mind once again; how was I-20 so barren during the day? Though she’d tried the engine a few times, the Camaro hadn’t given any signs of resuscitation, and after ripping through it three times in search for her phone charger, it never turned up. She was however able to dig a map out of the glove box, huddling behind the Camaro for shade as she studied it for a moment.

The nearest town on foot appeared to be a town called Bon Temps. It was barely a speck on the map, but if it didn’t have a mechanic, it would at the very least have a phone for her to use. Sasha weighed her options for a moment; nearly three hours now, and not a single car had come by yet. Bon Temps looked to be in the neighborhood of ten miles out; Shreveport at least twenty, maybe more.

            Bon Temps it was.

            It might have pained her more to leave the Camaro behind if it was actually hers and if it hadn’t just inexplicable died out on her. If anything did happen to it, then she figured that Eoin deserved it and they’d call it even. As it was, Sasha was more than fine shoving her few belongings into the trunk and slinging her messenger bag over a shoulder, the last of the water jammed into it along with a melted energy bar. She checked the watch at her wrist.

            It had stopped ticking.

            A trickle of unease shot threw her, and she stripped her wrist bare of the watch, leaving only the pile of small bracelets she had there. She hid the watch in the glove compartment, and then squinted her eyes up at the sun. By the sun’s position just over her shoulders, she was willing to guess she had another four or five hours of sunlight. That had to be more than plenty to get herself to Bon Temps without the troubles that came with the night; that was if she even made it to Bon Temps. She was holding out on the hope she’d come across a payphone or car long before the end of the ten-mile trek.

            She was fit; she wasn’t so sure she was _that_ fit.

            “And we march,” she muttered to herself, hoisting her messenger bag onto her shoulders.

            Sasha’s Doc Martens were well worn enough that they were comfortable around her feet, but they weren’t exactly ideal for the weather. She was wondering if she’d even be able to remove them from her swollen feet when she came across a sign bearing the name of the small town that was her destination. She was somewhat miffed to find she still had a few miles to go, but that didn’t compare to how she felt when she saw the sign right above it.

            “ _Linden Road?!”_ she exclaimed. She dug the map out of the back pocket of her shorts where she’d stuffed it, prying it open to try to figure out how she could have possible ended up here. She’d been on I-20, and she was supposed to walk it until it branched off into a small road that would take her to Bon Temps.

            Finding Linden Road on the map, she was shocked to find that it was a small line running about a mile apart and parallel to I-20. While the good news was that it was closer to Bon Temps, it was also a small, inconsequential road.

            “No wonder you didn’t find a goddam soul on it, Buckley,” she admonished herself, raking through her memory for when she’d gotten off I-20. But the more she thought of it, the more she was certain she’d never veered off course. She was pretty good with directions, anyhow. She didn’t ever just _get lost_.

            Of course, the only other explanation was—

            “Nope,” said Sasha, shaking her head against the possibility, folding her map back up. “You got lost. First time for everything, Ace,”

            And so she walked, even when she realized that she’d misjudged the sun, which was sinking at a faster rate than she’d realized in the West.

            Sasha came to a stop on the side of Linden Road, turning to watch the night overcome the last few rays of the dying sun. Nighttime.

            Despite the sun having sunk into the horizon and there not being a single lamppost on Linden Road, Sasha felt like she’d been thrust under a spotlight. Linden Road wandered into the Louisiana swamp-like territory, with trees and foliage on either side of the road creating the types of shadows and shapes that had frightened her as a child, that she still had the good sense now to question.

            “I’m not that child anymore,” Sasha whispered to herself. “I have lived with darkness. I do not fear darkness,”

            As she resumed her pace, a small voice in the back of her head reminded her that while that may have been true, Sasha had never stopped fearing the things that slithered and stalked in the dark.

* * *

          Another hour passed and Sasha was starting to think she’d stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone where the rest of the world did not exist, only the dark and eerie stretch of Linden Road.        

            Just as she began to wonder for the thousandth time what had possessed her to walk ten miles in the middle of nowhere _toward_ night, Sasha finally came across a man. Her shoulders picked up.

            “Hey—Hi! You! Hey over there!”

            Relief flooded through her as she jogged the rest of the way to the man walking down the road.

            “Hey there, I’m sorry but do—oh fuck!”

            Sasha screamed in surprise, tripping over her own boots and landing hard on her ass. She scrambled backwards and away from the man—man?—loose rocks of asphalt biting into the palms of her hands and the back of her thighs.

            The man she’d come across was missing half his face.

            “You can see me?” he asked. “You see me?”

            “This is _not_ happening _not_ happening _this is so not fucking happening!_ ” she chanted to herself, jamming her eyes shut. But when Sasha opened them again, the man was striding towards her.

            “Fucking _hell_!”

            “Is that what this is? That where I am? Hell?” the man asked, falling to his knees. His bloody, gory hands fell to her shoulders, gripping her so tightly she cried out in pain.

            “Let go,” she told him, stomach flipping at the scent of decay and gore that rolled off him. “Let go _now_ before— _shit,_ ”

            A flood of memories not her own assaulted Sasha. They were all disjointed, abstract pieces of faces and feelings she could barely make out, all jumbled. Two young children—boy blond, girl ginger. Hatred. Fury. Love. Blood. Hair—Red—Soft—Long. Fury. Despair. Pain. The memories began to sharpen, coming at a slower pace—a blonde woman. Tombstones—cemetery. Pain, so much pain. A gun. Rage. Lust. Hatred. Pain—shovel. The blonde woman again—

            Sasha screamed as she felt pinpricks of ice scatter from where the spirit touched her, traveling through her body.

            “Get off!” she shouted, throwing the man off of her. He skittered a few feet in front of her, landing on his back. He sneered at her, rising in an instant to his feet and—

            “Holy shit!” Sasha screamed and threw her hands up as a car drove straight through the spirit, careening straight towards her. It screeched around her, narrowing missing her, coming to a dangerous halting curve somewhere behind her. Breathing hard from the _two_ near-death experiences, blood pumping so hard she could hear nothing else, Sasha slowly lowered her hands to the ground. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes squinting through the darkness for the spirit. She couldn’t see it.

            But she did taste blood. Reaching a hand to her lip, she traced a fresh rivulet of blood from her nose. A headache was pressing against her temples, and she realized belatedly that the spirit hadn’t only been more aggressive than most, but that this fatigue was due to it trying to possess her.

            “Dead motherfucker,” she cursed, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. A car door slammed, reminding her of the much more ordinary near-death she’d just evaded.

            “Funny, I was about to say the same thing,”

            It was a man’s voice, tone clipped in a way that suggested that ‘funny’ was the last thing he found the situation.

            “What, because you were driving over a hundred in a fifty zone like a psycho? It’s a wonder you didn’t kill me,” retorted Sasha. Bile was rising in her throat, and she fought to keep it down. It had been a while since she’d encountered a spirit strong enough to invade her body.

            “Because laying in the middle of the road isn’t a psycho move?”

            Sasha didn’t appreciate the prissy tone, nor that it was significantly closer than it had just been. She hadn’t even heard the stranger approach. When she looked up, she realized immediately why.

            “ _Undead_ motherfucker,” she muttered absently to herself. He was a vampire.

            The giant—even if Sasha had been standing, and even if her total height was somewhere taller than in the ballpark of five foot five, she would have called him a giant—quirked an eyebrow down at her. In the fluid grace that marked his kind apart from the rest, he was crouched down, peering at her inquisitively.

            Sasha knew a lot of vampires, enough to know that the notion amongst the average human that vampirism turned one into an exceptionally beautiful, sexy creature of the night was a misconception. The whole dying and reviving process might have smoothed out some scars, made hair shinier, skin acne free, but it wasn’t exactly a beautifying agent. The otherworldly quality of vampires—the fact that they did not breathe, that they did not need to blink or stumble or make much noise when they moved was the part of the deadly allure that many humans confused as beauty.

            That being said, the vampire before her had to have been uncommonly attractive as a human, because he was currently a goddam sin. His eyes were glacial in color and frigid intensity; skin the familiar pale marble of vampires. His hair was fair, nearly glowing in the moonlight and contrasting to his dark ensemble of black on black. He was pure sex.

            “ _Wow_ ,” muttered Sasha, blinking through her daze. The combination of near-possession and super hot, strange vampire was not good for her queasiness.

            “Hmm,” hummed the vampire, quirking his head to the side as he studied her with unnerving intensity. “Once again I was thinking much the same,”

            Sasha had enough presence of mind to know that whatever ‘wow’ he was thinking wasn’t quite as flattering as hers.

            _Get your head together before you lose it, girl_ , Sasha told herself. She was in the middle of the road in the middle of nowhere with a vampire she wasn’t sure was friendly. _Think_.

            _Well, he stopped when he could have A) hit you or B) kept driving. Then again C) He might think you’re a convenient snack. Although he is quite the snack himself…_

_But_ , said another wiser voice in the back of your head. _You are bleeding, and he seems to be containing himself pretty well. He’s breathing through it and everything—chances are good that he’s not some wild newborn, right?_

            “Are you suffering from brain damage?” asked the vampire, the lines of his face revealing his impatience to her. “Although if you are I’m assuming it’s a preexisting condition, as I didn’t actually hit you with my car. I’m not even sure how you’re bleeding. Do you sit in the middle of the road hoping to scam poor bastards out of their insurance?”

            “I’m trying to gauge the odds you’re a newborn with uncontrollable urges or a sadistic jackass,” muttered Sasha, wincing in pain as she moved. She needed to get up.

            “Oh?” asked the vampire, eyebrow quirking once again. “And which are you settling on?”

            “I haven’t ruled out the second one yet, but you don’t feel like you were reborn yesterday,” said Sasha. She forced herself up to her feet, wincing at her stiff muscles. That spirit had gotten a little further into her than she would have liked.

            “I am _so_ glad you’re not inside of me,” she murmured, eyes once again scanning the road for any sign of the spirit. It had been one of the strongest she’d come across in a while, and she didn’t suspect it would stay hidden permanently. She wasn’t all too eager to find out, in any case.

            “I didn’t realize that somewhere in between nearly flattening you with my car and your babbling I’d propositioned you,” said the vampire dryly. Sasha glanced at him—up at him. Now that he too had risen from the ground, she saw that he did indeed tower over her. He was glancing at her with a hint of amusement now, eyes sweeping over her. They paused on her mouth.

            “What? Oh, wasn’t talking to you,” said Sasha distractedly. She walked over to where she’d dropped her bag, rifling through it for a napkin or tissue, distinctly aware of the blood that had trickled down her nose to her mouth.

            “Here,”

            Sasha eyed the silk handkerchief he’d pulled out of his pocket—it looked far too nice to be used to mop up her bloody nose, but more importantly, she wouldn’t be giving it back once her blood was on it.

            “Take it. I’m not particularly attached,” drawled the vampire. Sasha thanked him, wearily taking the silk square and pressing it under her nose. She stared at him unabashedly as she did, trying to figure out just who she was dealing with.

            Also, he was very easy on the eyes. There was just so much to look at; his long, sinewy limbs, his incredible bone structure.

            The vampire didn’t appear to mind her scrutiny, perhaps because he was so busy with his own. His appreciative eyes weren’t shy about the skin that showed beneath her high-waisted shorts, tracing the curves of her thighs, up to the dips of her collarbones above the neckline of her t-shirt. His gaze and it’s obvious interest had a way of making her feel like she was standing in front of him in her best lingerie and not in the middle of a highway with a handkerchief pressed to her nose. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He looked like he wanted to devour her in the worst kind of way.

            Sasha blinked away the thought. She’d never been the type to devolve into a sex-crazed creature at the first sign of an attractive man, no matter how attractive. Just the opposite; she’d always prided herself in her ability to not only remain cool and level-headed and unaffected around men, but in having the upper hand in her interactions with the male sex.

            “My first guess was junky,” said the vampire after a few moments. “But you don’t look or smell like one,”

            Of course he hadn’t been oblivious to her blood and the way it smelled. Now that she looked for it, she saw it in the way he spoke; she noticed a slight inflection of an accent—experience told her Scandinavian—and she noticed the way his tongue darted out unnecessarily. He tasted her blood in the air.

            He probably liked it, too.

            “You wouldn’t happen to be going to Bon Temps, would you?” asked Sasha. “If not, can you tell me how much further down it is?”

            The vampire glanced over her shoulder for a moment. “You look…sweet,” said the vampire. Sasha’s eyes narrowed at the suggestive double entendre there. “I wouldn’t recommend that town for you,”

            “I’m not particularly attached,” drawled Sasha. “But as my car broke down some ten or so miles up the road, I don’t have much of a choice, sweet or otherwise,”

            The vampire stared at her for a long moment.

            “What were you doing in the middle of the road?” asked the vampire.

            “Like I said, my car broke down up the road. I stumbled over uneven ground. You might have forgotten that humans don’t see quite as well as you do in the dark,”

            His eyebrow quirked at her sauciness.

            “I’ll take you into town, if you’d like,” he finally said. “If you can’t get a mechanic out, you can at least get a motel,”

            Sasha considered him for a moment. “And you’d do that…no strings attached? Bloody or of the underwear variety?”

            “I’m insulted you’d doubt the sincerity of my good deed,” said the vampire. “You’re the hitchhiker in deviously tiny shorts. I think I’m the one who should be worried,”

            She scoffed, rolling her eyes. He had a way of turning words that had the potential of coming out flirtatious as incredibly condescending. He was also her only ride, it seemed.

            “My short shorts and I would be incredibly appreciative of your sincerely good deed,” said Sasha, voice dripping with enough dryness to rival his. She thought she detected a hint of a smirk at his mouth—whether at her sardonic reply or that she’d just fallen into some kind of trap, she wasn’t quite sure—but he quickly turned, making a sweeping gesture to his car.

            “Your chariot awaits,” he told her, tone flat so as not to be bested. This time it was her turn to fight a smile. She was somewhat reminded of Eoin, and she missed her banter with the charming Irishman and his mile-wide asshole streak.

            Thinking of the Irishman made her think about how much trouble she’d be in once he found out she’d somehow fucked with his prized car.

            As she approached the car, Sasha was able to see more than the glare of its headlights. The vampire drove a stunning Porsche, and she glared for a moment at the gleaming black chrome, knowing that had he not been a vampire, the likelihood of a human driver avoiding flattening her with it would have been low.

            Okay, so yes she’d been in the middle of the road. But she was _not_ about to take the blame when she’d nearly been taken for a joyride by a seriously fucked up ghost.

            “Problem?” asked the vampire, standing by the open driver’s side.

            “Just thinking how _not_ cute I would have looked splattered across the front of your car,” said Sasha.

            “Definitely would have been a bitch to clean,” he told her, disappearing into the car. She scowled, then followed into the car, dropping her bag in between her legs. The car had leather seats—red—and all the luxury add-ons she could think off.

            “I’m Sasha, by the way,” she told him.         

            “Eric,” he said after a cursory glance at her.

            “So tell me, Eric,” said Sasha. “What’s wrong with it? Bon Temps, I mean,”

            He took his time answering, pretending to focus on the U-turn back to the small town he’d just come speeding from. Sasha called bullshit; she was certain he could execute the maneuver blindfolded in traffic. He was thinking of something to say, or how to lie. Interesting.

            “Bon Temps is a small Louisiana town,” he finally told her. “Unless you find low literacy and inbreeding charming, I doubt it’s for you,”

            Again, Sasha called bullshit. She didn’t think it was a coincidence that the strangeness with her car and her phone had happened outside of the same town he’d warned her off. There was something off about it, something off that was of note to a vampire. But he clearly didn’t care enough to make a case for her not to go into town, and she wasn’t particularly scared off.

            Yet. The spirit had almost done the trick.

            “And?” she asked, turning her eyes to the window, watching as the scenery sped by into a blur of dark and darker. Sasha didn’t trust humans at this speed—she didn’t trust herself behind the wheel like this—but driving around country roads with a vampire behind the wheel had been a vice of hers for a very long time. She could feel her excitement bubbling up at the exhilaration of flying through the dark like this, though she tried to dampen it, knowing it would only sweeten her scent to him.

            “And?” repeated Eric. Sasha’s eyes flicked to him.

            “And vampires don’t warn _sweet_ girls like me off of towns for low literacy rates and inbreeding,”

            “Know many vampires, do you?” he asked her skeptically.

            “Some,” she murmured thoughtfully, twirling a curl around her index finger so tight it hurt. The same vampires that were so going to kill her if they got their hands on her after all of this.

            “Is that why you felt comfortable enough stepping into my car?” asked Eric. “Or are you another fangbanger?”

            “You get a lot of fangbangers in these parts?” Sasha asked him dubiously, ignoring his insult. She hadn’t been in the deep south in over a decade, but she still carried the scars of the emotional—and, on more than one occasion, physical—abuse that had assailed her simply because her father had been white and her mother black. She was skeptical that if Louisiana hicks couldn’t accept humans of different skin color, they’d welcome vampires with open arms.

            As though reading her mind, Eric smirked. “You’d be surprised.”

 

* * *

          Eric’s Porsche came to a crawling stop in front of an unlikely place. A diner. Sasha peered through the window at the sprawling construction, drinking in the neon green and red sign that proclaimed the establishment to be _Merlotte’s Bar & Grill._

            “And you’re buying me dinner? You shouldn’t,” said Sasha, glancing his way. The corner of the vampire’s mouth lifted into the ghost of a smile.

            “Which is why I’m not,” he told her.             “But I know you humans need to eat, and quite frankly I don’t know this town well enough to bring you to a motel, much less do I have the desire to wander it aimlessly to find one. The owner of this… _fine establishment_ will help you,”

            Sasha bit her lip as she nodded thoughtfully, a hundred questions springing up to the forefront of her mind. What did a vampire with a fancy Porsche have to do with the owner of a diner in the middle of nowhere? Were they friends? Business partners?

            “Can I offer you a Tru B?” asked Sasha, her hand coming to rest on the door handle. She had, after all, been raised with manners.

            “The humans will be far more helpful to you if you’re not seen with me,” he told her.

            Now that just wasn’t fair. Even more questions were bubbling up onto the tip of her tongue, the handsome mysterious vampire intriguing her more with every second she spent in his presence. At the realization, she wrinkled her nose, slumping back against the polished leather interior. There it was again, the lure of vampires. Shaking her head free of an onslaught of self-analysis that would make even a therapist quake in their boots, she flashed Eric a final bright smile.

            “So don’t mention that you sent me?”

            “Best not to,” agreed Eric, meeting her gaze.

For a long moment, they stared into each other’s eyes. Sasha felt a strange rush explode inside of her, like rivulets of hot and cold water running beneath the surface of her skin. Electricity danced beneath her fingertips, igniting something that had lain dormant inside of her for years.

Sasha blinked, breaking the spell that had fallen over them, clenching and unclenching her hands. How strange. From her peripheral, she saw Eric frown down at his steering wheel, equally puzzled.

“Thanks for the ride,” said Sasha, forcing the words passed the sudden dryness in her mouth. She was out of the car before he could answer—if he’d even meant to—and striding for the entrance to the diner. Behind her she heard the engine of the Porsche rev, and then the vampire was gone.

            A small part of her was disappointed, but she also thought that it was for the best. She might not have been a vampire, but mingled in with the delicious scent of his cologne, she could simply smell trouble rolling off him.

* * *

          Merlotte’s had the homey, laid-back and authentic air of a local diner that so many places in LA had tried and failed to replicate. Classic rock played softly from speakers as some patrons had their dinner and others played at a pool table in the back, betting and jeering against each other. Enough animals hung on the walls to make the average taxidermist enthusiast excited, relics of hunting trips from locals, if the plaques under them were anything to go by. For a long moment, Sasha’s eyes landed on the buck hanging over the bar top.

            “Hi!”

            Sasha jumped as a pretty redheaded waitress popped up, her smile dazzling and blue eyes bright. “Welcome to Merlotte’s. Can I get you a seat at a table, or would you prefer the bar?”

            The waitress was a vampire. It wasn’t something she hadn’t seen before; ever since vampires had come out of the proverbial closet, many places had become twenty-four hours or at the very least had started keeping late hours, places like libraries and movie theaters and shops. Young vampires had flocked to fill these positions. But while it was common enough in large cities like Los Angeles, she hadn’t expected a vampire waitress in a place like this, not in a small town in Louisiana. Merlotte’s had too much of a mom-and-pop feel for it.

            _So Eric recommends this place, but isn’t on good terms with the people—but a vampire works here?_

            “The bar is fine,” said Sasha, returning the vampire waitress’s smile.

            “Then feel free to sit wherever you like. Sam’s out back for a minute, but you can order your drinks from him. I’ll come by for your order when you’ve had a minute to look over the menu. I’m Jessica, just holler when you need me,”

            Jessica moved on to get an order from a table of four, and Sasha watched her curiously for a moment. She was somewhat amused to see that graceful as the girl was, she seemed to remember herself and then force a semblance of humanity to her movements. Sasha could guess she hadn’t been vampire long.

            Sasha took a seat at the bar, pulling the nearest menu towards her. Eric had been right; she needed to eat. All the walking and near-possession had left her stomach all but growling for sustenance, and she was near ravenous when her eyes drank in the menu. She might not have been fond Louisiana in general, but she had nothing against the food.

            “Our gumbo’s had folks in here coming in for second and third helpins all day,”

            Sasha looked up to find a man in his mid thirties slip behind the counter. He was dressed simply in jeans and a well-worn plaid shirt; Jessica had worn a uniform, so she guessed that this must be the diner’s owner. He smiled kindly at her, and she guessed him to be Sam.

“But if you’re hungry for a juicy burger, our Merlotte’s Classic always hits the spot, guaranteed,”

            “I was sold at gumbo,” said Sasha, folding up the laminated menu and placing it back where she’d found it on the counter.

            “Coming right up!” Jessica said cheerfully as she passed by. Sasha grinned; there were certainly advantages to having a vampire as a waitress.

            “Can I get you something to drink?” asked the Sam.

            “A beer sounds great right about now,” said Sasha.

            As the man got to work filling up a tall glass for her, she said, “I’m looking for the owner. Are you him?”

            “Depends. Do I owe ya money?” he teased, placing her beer in front of her. Though his friendly demeanor hadn’t changed and he was very clearly joking with her, his eyes had taken on a guarded sheen. He had a secret, as most people did. Sasha wondered what his was; she was willing to bet it wasn’t your average secret, the I’m-a-married-man-fooling-around-with-my-neighbor kind of secret, not after the night she’d had. Did she dare trust the mysterious vampire that had dropped her off here?

            “I was told I could get some help here. See, my car broke down a few miles up the road. I was able to hitch a ride into town, but I need a motel to crash in and the number of your local mechanic,” she explained.

            “I’m real sorry to hear about your troubles,” said Sam. Despite his guard being up, his tone appeared genuine to her ears. “But not to worry, this a friendly place. We can get you up on your feet and passing through. You are passing through, ain’t you?”

            She wasn’t sure if he asked because she looked liked a drifter, or because he was subtly warning her that simply passing through was her best option. She took a sip of her beer. “Yeah, just passing through,”

            Sam Merlotte smiled widely at her like she’d answered correctly.

            “Lucky for you, this is kinda the hang out spot,” said Sam. He nodded his head to the pool table. “That’s Earl Jenkins. He runs the Motel on Weston Road. I’ll admit it’s not much, but it’s got running water and a fair price. If you explain your situation, I’m sure he’d be glad to give you a ride back to the motel. He ain’t no creep, neither,” Sam added.

            Sasha thought she’d be the judge of that, but she grinned at Sam all the same. “That’s very helpful, thank you. Earl Jenkins, you said?”

            Sam nodded. “As far as a mechanic, you’ll want to talk to Patty Evans. You can give her a call or find her here in the mornings. Weston Road ain’t far from here, if you find yourself having to walk. Patty’s real good at her job too, and she’s honest folk. Won’t yank ya around just because you’re an outta towner,”

On paper it all just sounded way too good to be true, which was why Sasha kept her guard up. A broken down car, helpful vampires in fancy sports cars, ghost possessions, vampire waitresses? Nice townsfolk? Sasha was willing to bet there was something incredibly fucked up afoot, and she’d be getting to hell out of Bon Temps at first chance. Unfortunately, she’d have to stay the night first.

 


	2. Cemeteries Are For Meeting People

         “Fuck me.”

            Those were the words Sasha Buckley greeted the world with the next morning. She’d yet to open her eyes and already she was regretting being awake. While Sam Merlotte might have been right about Earl Jenkins’s motel having a fair price and running water, he’d neglected to mention that the mattresses were riddled with springs that dug into so deeply into her back she’s have to pry them out with a crowbar, roaches of an alarmingly abnormal size, and an air conditioner that had given up on working sometime in the eighties. The thing was _ancient_ and somewhere around three am, when she’d been dying of heat and humidity and balanced herself on the rickety desk chair to try to get the thing to work, it hadn’t done anything more than cough once in her face, spewing a layer of dust as old as the unit itself, and then refused to turn back on.

            Back aching, Sasha moved out of bed and into the bathroom, showering quickly (running water yes, hot water to rid herself fully of grime _no_ ) and then changed. She went through her bag quickly, glad she’d had the foresight of stuffing a change of clothes in there, and counted how much cash she had on her. She probably had more than anyone expected her to carry on her person, and definitely enough to pay for the room and food, likely enough to cover work on the Camaro, too. She’d have to stop by an ATM sometime in the next few days, though. The second she did that, however, anyone looking for her would easily find her.

            Next, Sasha checked her phone. She’d let it charge all night, and now that she checked the pink Blackberry, nothing looked out of place. She saw she had a few missed calls, all from Eoin. She smirked to herself when she checked his messages. They were riddled with creative curses to express his fury at rising and finding his car missing. There was one message from an unknown number.

            _Safe travels. Be smart. Be in control. Return when you can._

For a moment her eyes glazed over with tears, so much so the phone’s screen became blurry. Her booted feet planted into the dirty motel floor carpet, elbows propping up on her knees as her hands curled into a tight fist pressed against her mouth. Her eyes screwed shut tightly, silent sobs wracking through her. The message might have been cryptic to anyone else, but she understood it well. And, most important, had been the final line.

            _Return when you can_.

            She’d had reservations about stealing away in the dead of day, without a word or warning. Then again, Malachi had probably guessed she’d been leaving, had guessed she needed to get out LA. A part of her had been terrified that after everything, her taking off so abruptly might have angered him, but the text was proof he understood, and that he’d be leaving the door unlocked for her to come home when she felt ready.

            A knock on the door startled her out of her emotional reverie. Despite no tears having fallen, she wiped at her cheeks and under her eyes, taking in a deep breath and fixing a smile on her face to go answer the door.

            It was a woman. Her name was Holly, and she explained that she was staying in the room three doors down with her two sons. They’d recently lost their house in a fire, and where staying at the motel until they found a new place. She worked at Merlotte’s, and she said that Sam had given her a call to let her know about Sasha’s situation.

            “I’m headed into work now, so if you need a ride anywhere, I’d be more than happy to help,” said Holly.

            It was all very nice and well, and Sasha appreciated the friendly, small-town efforts to get a stranger back on their feet. But suspicion was intertwined in her nature, and as much as she liked to pretend that she did, she didn’t believe in coincidences. She felt very much under surveillance.

            She carefully looked Holly over as she spoke. She had dirty blonde curly hair and a nice smile. Her accent pinpointed that she was a Louisiana native, but none of those things caught Sasha’s attention. It was other, smaller things, like the fact that she smelled like frankincense, lavender and patchouli, and that she had a necklace around her neck with a familiar symbol.

            Leaning against the doorframe of her room, Sasha asked, “Are you a witch, Holly?”

            Holly’s complaints about the motel’s living conditions came to an abrupt stop. She blinked at her in surprise, neither alarmed nor offended. Simply genuinely astonished.

            “I’m not a huge fan of the w-word, but sure. I’m a practitioner of Wicca, to be specific about it,” said Holly. “It’s what feels spiritually right for me. Are you a fellow practitioner?”

            Internalizing a grim smile, Sasha shook her head. “No, I just saw your necklace. Some school friends of mine have dabbled,”

            “It’s gotten real common since the whole vampire thing,” Holly said with a small grin. “I’d love to talk to you about it some time, if you’re interested. Wicca’s got a lot of bad rap unfortunately, but it’s really a very beautiful, spiritual thing. I ain’t ever been very religious, but I’ve always considered myself spiritual. Wicca’s what works for me,”

            Sasha declined the invitation, but she did accept a ride to Merlotte’s. She decided to have breakfast before attempting to get her car sorted, mostly because she had to have coffee to be a fully functioning human being. There was no way she was giving the sketchy coffee maker in her room a chance.

* * *

             Sasha was digging into a beautiful plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns when a hush fell over the diner. She’d taken a corner booth this time, and from her spot she had eyes on just about the whole place. Now she saw that a blond man no older than thirty had come in. He wore faded blue jeans and battered work boots, sported a strong five o’clock shadow and scraggly hair. What she was sure was a handsome, boyish face was lined by a heavy frown.

            The coffee that had been halfway to her lips froze as Sasha was hit by a strong wave of despair. There was no mistaking where it was coming from. She felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Whoever he was, whatever had happened to him, it was strong enough to affect the very air around him, enough so that other patrons in the bar shifted uncomfortably, unaware that they too were tuning into his strong emotional aura.

            Oddly enough, sympathy wasn’t the only feeling in the room. As the man dragged himself to the bar, pointedly ignoring the silence, whispers and hushed conversations sprouted about. Unmistakably, there was some hot gossip about.

            “Need a refill, hon?” asked Holly as she stopped by her table.

            “Please,” said Sasha, holding out her mug. Her curiosity burning, she reached out for Holly, immediately taking her and away before she made contact with the bare skin of the waitress’s arm. She’d decided that Holly wasn’t a powerful witch, likely not even a very good one. Still, she refrained from touching her, cautious not to give anything about herself away. There were people in the world that could tell a lot from a single touch, and she was weary of that.

            “Hey Holly, who’s that?” asked Sasha, nodding toward the blond man. Holly followed her gesture, expression dropping sadly.

            “That’s Jason Stackhouse. He’s a real sweetheart, but he’s been real depressed lately. His sister went missing a few weeks ago. She was really nice. Actually, she was a waitress here,” said Holly. Holly glanced around, then leaned in a little. “Some people think it was vampires. She was dating one, hung around some others,”

            Holly left her to mull it over, and Sasha bit her lip, knuckles turning white from the force she gripped her silverware.

            She didn’t want to see it, but little puzzle pieces were tumbling onto the table before her, each intriguing enough on its own, but dangerously fascinating when contrasted to each other. And Sasha, Sasha was a sucker for the strange and curious, even when she was on the run from it.

            Malachi had called her curiosity charming. Her father had once told her it would only get her into trouble. This was the rare occasion she was inclined to agree with her father.

            _You’re getting your car fixed and then you are gone. This isn’t any of your business_.

            And that was what Sasha told herself as she scarfed down her breakfast. But try as she might, the vampire from the night before, Eric, sauntered into the forefront of her mind. He’d been peeling out of Bon Temps like a bat out of hell; what had he really been doing here? Was he the missing girl’s vampire boyfriend? She thought about that moment in the car, when their eyes had locked and she’d felt her energy spasm in a way it hadn’t in a very long time. The moment might have looked romantic from the outside, but it had simply been yet another curiosity. Something in her had reacted to him; had that been an instinct unearth, telling her to run the other way? A deep-rooted warning, a primal instinct warning her what lay behind a handsome face? Whatever it had been, she was certain he had felt it too.

 

* * *

           True to her reputation, Patty Evans had been fair about her work on the car. She’d had her son tow it into town and, after identifying the problem, she’d sent out for parts. She promised that between acquisition and delivery of the part, the work would be done by the next morning, afternoon at worst. Sasha slipped Patty an extra hundred dollars to make sure the car was ready by morning, and that had been that. That left her with a day to kill.

            Bon Temps didn’t offer much in the way of tourist attractions. Merlotte’s it turned out was so much the place to be as the _only_ place to be, and the only other significant landmarks were the churches (apparently Bon Temps needed so much saving there were _two_ churches in the tiny town), the cemetery, and the local swimming hole.

            By four o’clock in the afternoon it hadn’t cooled down any, the humidity was frying, and Sasha chose to check out one of the swim spots.

            The pretty little ring on her ring finger might have suppressed the unnatural energy that was in her veins, preventing her from using it and others from smelling it or spotting it in her, but there were just some things that it couldn’t block, and that was some of the natural, extra senses she’d been born with. Those little ‘extras’ as she liked to think of them, didn’t give her much grief about occasionally using them, which was why when she dipped her toe into the water’s edge, she also felt around for the presence of anything bigger than a freshwater fish, namely alligators. Assured that she was alone, she stripped to her underwear, leaving her clothes on the rickety wooden deck.

            The water was divine and, Sasha mused, likely cleaner than that in her motel room. She basked in the coolness of the water against her skin and in her hair, eyes shutting as the late afternoon sunrays danced across her face. Somewhat begrudgingly, she admitted that the smell of the earth and sounds of nature were something the city lacked. Los Angeles might not be her favorite city in the world, but it was home. Still, this wasn’t half bad—

            Sasha screamed, floundering backwards in the water and drinking in a little too much as she found herself face to face with a man.

            It was the man from the road.

            The _ghost_ from the road.

            “Shh—hey, hey! I just wanna talk!” he said holding his hands up. It was unnerving seeing him swimming in the water right next to her, completely dry.

            “Yeah, I don’t think so, buddy,” she said, shaking her head. “You wanted to do a little more than talk last night!”

            The man shook his head. “Look, I’m real sorry about that. I didn’t mean nothing by it—just, it’s hard to control. I thinka something, of somewhere in town and I’m just there—this ain’t easy. And you’re the first to see me—I freaked out, all right?”

            Sasha coughed up a little more water, staring at the ghost cautiously. “Well if you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re dead,” she croaked.

            “I got that part,” said the ghost. Suddenly his face contorted with rage. “That little blonde bitch! That fang fucking little cunt! She did this to me!”

            Sasha gasped at the explosion of fury and quickly tried to swim away towards the dock. That was one of the problems with a lot of ghosts. They didn’t have anything to tether them properly, and they could flip through emotions too unpredictably. Like now.

            She screamed as a cold hand wrapped around her ankle, dragging her back through the water. Her face fell under water, cutting off her scream. She kicked wildly at him, trying to surface for air.

            And there was the other problem with ghost. Most people didn’t have the ability to see them, much less interact with them. But people like Sasha who could see them, they were vulnerable to being attacked by them.

            “Let go!” she screamed at him.

            She yelped as he slammed her back against his chest, his hand coming around her neck roughly, cold, ghostly breath chilling her ear.

            “You got into that car with that fanger. You fuck him? You sucked his dead prick, didn’t you, you little fang slut,”

            Sasha thrashed against him, trying to peel his hand away from her neck. Pain flared at her throat as he squeezed even tighter.

            “I don’t see any fang marks—you drink his blood too? You filthy blood whore! You, you all disgust me!”

His hand left her throat, and Sasha had barely taken a gulp of fresh air when his fingers dug into her hair, finger nails digging sharply into her scalp. She screamed in pain, bucking and thrashing harder than ever, but it was no use, because he dunked her head underwater, holding her down with all his strength.

* * *

          The sun hadn’t quite gone down when Eric Northman rose from his coffin, cracking his head and sighing deeply. He breathed in sharply through his nose, trying hard to concentrate on the musty basement smells of his would-be dungeon.

            His thoughts returned to the girl from the road, the strange little hitchhiker he had taken pity on. After ascertaining that the near-road kill was actually incredibly attractive, he’d gotten the sense that there wasn’t something quite right about her or at least, not completely natural. She’d been lying in the middle of the road, her eyes—strange beautiful eyes, one a vibrant green the other a burst of golden brown—had been searching the darkness for danger, even though _he’d_ been the one standing over her, had nearly flattened her with his car.

            It was true that her beauty was a welcome break from the common tropes of Fangtasia, in a way that a certain blonde’s had been, though he refused to think about her now. Her mane of curls had enthralled him, his wicked brain thinking of the delicious mess they’d be in after a night of passion. He’d rather liked her thighs, too, the strong lean muscles had called to him from beneath her tiny little shorts. There was just something about feeling a woman’s legs really grip around him when he was inside her that was irreplaceable.

            And then there was her _scent_ , which he was still trying to rid himself of. It was an uncommon mix, heady and powerful and dangerous. It was still in his nose, and it was so strong when he’d returned to Fangtasia, he’d sat in his car for nearly an hour with his eyes shut and his mind wandering before realizing what he was doing.

            In her scent he had tasted the salt of a far away sea, crisp and energizing. There had been the raw, smooth notes of honey mixed with a bite of spice—

            His fangs ached again. They’d ached during the entire time he’d driven her to Bon Temps, urging his instincts to take over, to pull over and sink his fangs into her. She’d aroused his sexual interest, but it was his vampire instincts that had threatened to overcome him in a way they hadn’t since he’d been a newborn. Her scent had been so compelling he’d had to stop breathing to prevent himself from doing something regrettable.

            Eric glided his hand over the black lacquer of his coffin absently, wondering if her skin would feel as smooth.

            _But warm. It would also be warm_ , he thought. Eric blinked, snapping himself out of his reverie. He didn’t mind the thoughts so much as he minded how strong they were, and he began to wonder if he had been prudent to drop her off and leave, or if he’d been an idiot to let her get away. Sookie Stackhouse— _don’t think about her—_ had taught him that if it smelled inhuman, it probably was. But this girl wasn’t fae, he was sure of it. Sookie had smelled too floral, and though there had definitely been something earthy and musky about the girl’s scent, it wasn’t that drug-like too-sweet fae blood.

            _And she knew vampires_ , thought Eric. She’d been purposely vague with her answers, but he was certain enough about that. Then again, she didn’t strike him as the typical fangbanger.

            “It’s for the best,”

            “What is?”

            Eric turned, finding his progeny rising from her lurid coffin. He hated the thing, but he’d also been the one that had bought it for her, knowing its feminine extravagance would appeal to her. He’d been, of course, right. The sight of the pink-frilled, pearl embossed coffin had made Pam the most agreeable she’d been in a century the first week he’d gifted it to her.

            He was surprised to find her awake so soon, at least until he realized that he’d lost track of time once again, slipped into his brooding once more and it was now after sunset.

            “Eric?” asked Pam, glancing at him in worry. He knew that, though she was happy to be rid of Sookie, she also worried about him. Eric wasn’t as concerned with the situation as she might think, mostly because unlike others, he had hope Sookie would return safe and sound.

            “I thought I heard Ginger pleasuring herself in my office again,” Eric said smoothly. His progeny’s eyes narrowed.

            “I think the fuck not, not after last time. I’m pretty sure I came close to scaring her outta her damn skin when I caught her,” said Pam. Eric grinned at her. People really did only ever underestimate her once.

            Pushing the thought of beautiful girls and beautiful scents out of his mind, he smirked at her.

            “Time for another night of work,”

* * *

 

            Body quivering, Sasha heaved another mouthful of lake water onto the dock planks where she rested on all fours, lungs and throat burning. Where before she’d been too hot she was now shivering from the cold, both the chill of the ghost and the chill of near drowning. She fell onto her back, taking in greedy gulps of fresh air, chest rising and falling rapidly. Beams of afternoon sunlight light filtered down through the trees, tickling her in their contrast to her cool skin.

            It was pure, dumb fucking luck that she was alive at all, and Sasha didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all—of a ghost trying to drown her because it thought she’d slept with some random vampire, because _seriously_ what the hell was that all about?—or to cry because she was only alive because she’d found a piece of rusty iron at the bottom of the lake.

            That had been handy, because just as ghosts couldn’t make contact with most things, most things couldn’t make contact with them. They were funny like that. Iron was one of the few substances known to repel ghosts, and though she hadn’t been able to stab the ghost (it wasn’t like he was going to die again, anyway) the iron had been enough to dispel his semi-corporeal body and send him packing back to the ghostly plane…for now. Sasha wasn’t sure how long it would take for him to gather his energy and reform on the earthly plane again, but he was already stronger than most ghosts, and she wasn’t willing to bet she could wait until she skipped town.

            There was only one thing left to do.

* * *

            Sasha got a lot of looks as she navigated her way around Bon Temps. She was sure it was only half because she was drenched and smelled like the lake. Lake was an improvement to how some of the locals smelled anyway.

            To be rid of the ghost, Sasha first had to _know_ the ghost. And so her first order of business was to find the local paper and ask to go through their archives. As it went, Bon Temps didn’t have a local paper, and consumed the Country paper, and copies weren’t stored anywhere locally.

            The library wasn’t any help either, because the magazines that they kept on file were either about Civil War related historical finds “(“You Won’t Believe Which Local Name Is Descendent From THIS Confederate Hero”) or about fishing and hunting. She’d nearly been kicked out of the library because she’d asked them what the point of the local branch was if they didn’t even keep newspapers archived, because people weren’t certainly reading if every notable book had a three-inch layer of dust on it.

            Somewhat defeated, it wasn’t until Sasha dragged her sorry ass back to Merlotte’s that she had the idea. It was so obvious she hadn’t thought of it before, mostly because she’d gotten so used to living in the city. Who the hell talked to their neighbors in the city?

            “Hey Sam, know anyone from here that’s dead that hated vampires and people that hung out with them?”

            A plate of dishes and drinks crashed to the floor behind her, and Sasha turned around to find one of the waitresses bolt for the bathroom. She was another redhead, though her red was extreme and from the bottle, and she was older than Jessica. She was in her mid to late thirties and, Sasha saw, had tear tracks running down her face.

            Sam swore. “The hell you want to know about him for? And what the hell happened to you?” he asked, gesturing to her unkempt appearance.

            “Yes, yes, _him_ ,” said Sasha, ignoring his question. “Who’s ‘him’? He have a name? A place where he was buried? Please say Bon Temps cemetery—and _please_ tell he wasn’t cremated,”

            Sam looked at her suspiciously. “You ain’t one of them serial killer fan girls, are you?”

            “What? No,” said Sasha. “Wait, he’s a serial killer? Jesus that makes sense,”

            “How the hell do you know about René Lenier?”    

            Sasha raised an eyebrow. “That is so not a real name,”

            “Well, turned out his real name is Drew Marshall—how do you know that wasn’t his real name?” asked Sam, brow furrowing. Sasha scoffed.

            “Because it rhymes,” said Sasha. “Where’s he buried?”

            “Bon Temps Cemetery—hey wait! Sasha!”

 

* * *

         Mercifully, it was all pretty easy, and over in a few undisturbed hours. Bon Temps cemetery was small, and it wasn’t patrolled by any form of security. It was simply there, nestled between two large properties, one a sprawling estate and another a cute yellow house. The driveway of the yellow house had emitted a strange energy, and she steered clear of it, focusing on the cemetery. She really didn’t want to know.

            Finding the grave was easy—it was a simple grave with simply the man’s name (his real one) birth year and death year. Sasha hadn’t been entirely surprised to see that his death was as recent as earlier that year. It explained why he was so strong.

            It was the digging that was the worst. Her body was still sore from the terrible motel bed, but now she’d also suffered through a ghost attack and a near drowning, and she was a little worse for wear. Bruises had blossomed at her neck and Marshall’s fingernails had left marks against her scalp. The last time she’d done this, Eoin had been with her and he and his vampire speed and strength had taken care of the digging-up bit. That ghost had also been far friendlier, realizing it was haunting its old home and kindly asking Sasha to take care of its remains when it realized she could her.

            Cracking open the grimy coffin had been gross, and worse than the body and the smell of decay had been the creepy crawlies. Sasha had to stifle several screams as she quickly doused the body in lighter fluid—she was _not_ down with spiders—and she was all too happy to light a match and toss it into the grave.

            All in all, it was very anticlimactic. By the time the body was properly burned her hair had dried—it was also a complete and utter mess of tangles—and when she’d finished packing the dirt back into the grave, the sun had set. Sasha slumped against the back of Drew Marshall’s grave, reaching for her bag for her lighter and American Spirits.

            “Here’s to quitting,” she mumbled around the cigarette as she brought her lighter to it. The end glowed cherry red in the dark, and she took in a deep drag.

            So what, this one was well deserved. She’d banished the ghost of a serial killer that had plagued a town before it got strong enough to wreck havoc on it once again; people like her typically charged for that shit. It was silly to think that of all the things in the world, it would be a cigarette that would do _her_ in.

            “Then again, the irony of that would be pretty damn…” Sasha trailed off, eyes widening and her cigarette falling out of her mouth as her jaw dropped. It singed her hand on the way down, then went out in a damp clump of dirt.

            But Sasha’s attention was on another clump of dirt, the one sitting across from her. She’d noticed the fresh grave earlier, and she hadn’t paid much attention to it. Only now the dirt was _moving_ , something rolling beneath it—

            A grimy, pale hand stuck broke free from the dirt.

            Sasha swore.

“Oh _fuck_ this town!”


	3. Orphan Jack

 

            At the tender age of twenty-five, Sasha Buckley had already seen and done a lot than most people dreamed of, much less could ever begin to believe to even be possible. The good, the bad, and the in between, she’d experienced it. Still, a hand striking out of the dirt of a fresh grave was something of a _what the actual fuck_ moment even for her, and she stared at the dirty hand, struck to her core.

            Awestruck or horrorstruck, she wasn’t quite yet sure.

            A second hand burst from the earth, just as pale and dirt encrusted as the first. The hands scrambled for purchase, followed by the groans and grunts of pain and exertion. The dirt shook and tumbled as something dug its way out.

            Logically speaking, Sasha was pretty fucking sure of what she was seeing. She was, after all, in a graveyard after sundown. But what the hell were the odds of _that_ happened just when happened to have been there crisping a ghost’s cadaver?

            Low. Very, very low.

            As logic began to take over, her instinct reminded her that if what she thought was happening was happening, this was likely not a good place to be. She scrambled to her feet and ran, throwing a fleeting look over her shoulder. She was pretty sure she spotted a head in the midst of the flailing limbs.

            There was no way she run fast enough to be far enough, and so she ducked behind a moss covered tree, reaching down to a patch of muddy dirt and rubbing it into her skin. Masking her scent was important, but it wouldn’t mean jack if she didn’t slow down her heartbeat. Right now, hammering like it was in her chest, it was ringing like a fucking dinner bell.

            It was difficult, but she drew on her years of yoga and training, remembered everything Malachi had taught. _You will never stop your heartbeat if you are afraid. Therefore it is simply easiest to control what you are afraid of. Conquer your fears, and very little will frighten you._ Sasha had rolled her eyes massively at this particular lesson. But he had been right, and it had been a long time since she had been afraid to die. She learned to accept that she would someday anyway, and now she wasn’t ruled and tripped up by her fear of death. No, now her stubbornness and her refusal to meet death in any way but on her own terms aided her.

            And now? This was certainly not how she was going to die. She couldn’t control the situation, but she’d be damned if she couldn’t control herself. Eyes shut, head tipped back against the tree and dirty as all hell, Sasha dropped her heart rate.

            Then she peeked out from the forked branches of the tree.

            He was a man, no—a boy. Sasha didn’t think he was older than seventeen, eighteen years old. His clothes were torn and dirtied, earth and grime sticking to his moonlit skin. He looked about wildly, chest heaving from a reflex of the life he’d led before his burial.

            Sasha had never seen a newborn vampire so close to new life. She knew it to be a private time between maker and progeny, important to the new bond formed between them. It was also incredibly dangerous to anything with a heartbeat, as the newborn would be ravenous for blood. Weary as she was of the danger, the curious side of her reveled at being able to witness such a wondrous sight. For a moment she pictured herself as the young newborn. If she ever decided to go through with it, there was no way in hell she wasn’t being buried without a hair cap on—

            The newborn let out a low, howl of pain, and Sasha started as he fell to his knees, sobbing.

            “ _Peter!_ ”

            Goosebumps broke out across Sasha’s skin. The wail was gut-wrenching heartbreaking. The single name had been uttered with such pain, such misery. She frowned, staring at the grave the newborn had clawed out of. Her entire body went cold with realization.

            Whoever this boy was, he was alone. His maker was not in the grave with him.

            _Shit_ , thought Sasha. An unsupervised newborn was bad for a number of reasons; it was likely to start feeding without stopping, unable to control its urges. Where was his maker? The maker should have been there with fresh blood, should have been there to show him the way.

            The boy continued to cry, his sobs so miserable that Sasha’s eyes began to sting. He’d been abandoned, and to this new life? What vampire could be so cruel?

            She shifted her weight as she contemplated her options, and a twig snapped underfoot. She froze.

            “W-who’s there?” came a broken voice. “Peter? Peter is that you?”

            Cursing herself and the vampire that had turned the boy, Sasha took in a deep breath.

            “Hi.” Instantly she cringed. _Hi? That’s the best you got?_ “I’m Sasha,”

            “Where, where are you?” the newborn called back.

            Withholding a groan at her own stupidity, Sasha slowly stepped out of the shadow of the tree and into the light cast by the moon. If anyone happened upon them now, they’d certainly make an interesting pair, grimy as they were. And in a graveyard no less.

            The newborn was on his knees, and tracks of blood muddled with dirt tracking down his cheeks. His eyes were pools of silvery blue so bright they shown in the moonlight, hair long and wavy down to his chin.

            “What’s your name?” Sasha called to him. She didn’t move any closer, and she forced her muscles not to tense up. In California she remembered being taught that, if ever up against a bear, to never run. Running would trigger the chase instinct; this was not unlike that.

            “Jack. I’m Jack,” he sniffled. “A-are you a vampire?”

            Sasha merely smiled, deciding against bringing attention to the fact she had a pulse. Instead she asked, “Are you alone?”

            Jack looked back at the gravesite he had crawled out of, eyes desolate. “Peter. H-he left. He p- _promised_ ,” Jack fell into another round of sobs, burying his face against his knees, rocking back and forth. “Why? Why would he do that?”

            “I’m so sorry, Jack,” said Sasha. She could feel tears collecting once again. As delicately as she could, she asked, “Jack, do you know any vampires?”

            “No,” cried Jack, trembling all over now. “No, I’m alone. He left me,”

            The dangerous heat of fury shot up her veins, unfreezing her muscles.

            “Jack, I know this may sound strange, but I need you to stop breathing,” she told him as carefully as she could while still being firm.

            “Br-breathing?” he asked, looking up at her.

            The wind changed in that instance, stirring through her hair and rushing straight for the newborn vampire. She saw him take a deep breath in and, when his eyes changed, she knew she was in trouble.

            If she didn’t know any better, Sasha was very certain that the universe was plotting to kill her.

“ _Shit_ ,”

            He was on her before she’d even turned, and she landed on her stomach, the vampire on her back. He went straight for her neck and she screamed in pain as his fangs bit through her skin clumsily.

            “J-Jack s-stop!” she begged, pain flaring down to her chest and up to her jaw. But the vampire was lost in a haze of blood, feeding greedily from her neck. “Jack, _please!_ ”

            Jack’s weight was lifted off of her in an instance, and she gasped, rolling over onto her stomach, one hand clutching at her bleeding neck as the other look around the graveyard for the newborn. He was leaning back against a tree, fresh tears flowing, open shock framing his eyes.

            “I’msorryI’msorryI’m _sorry_ ,” he sobbed. “I didn’t mean to—I don’t want to h-hurt anyone. Please forgive me I just—I don’t—this wasn’t supposed to happen _none_ –it none—how—” His words fumbled through his own agony, and she could feel his self hatred from the other side of the graveyard. Dizzy from her wound, Sasha forced herself up to an elbow.

            “I can’t—I hear _everything_ —please just make it _stop_!” he wailed, tearing at his hair.

            “Jack, Jack it’s all right. I need you to calm down. It’s difficult, but you can control yourself. Just, find one sound in the dirt and focus on that.

            “I just want it over!” he screamed at her, spit flying. “I—” he broke off, eyes landing on something in the ground. It was her shovel. Sasha blinked and he was standing over Drew Marshall’s grave, shovel in hand. She heard the handle break off before even seeing it, and she tasted the bitter sourness of bile as she realized what he was going to do. Both hands on the splintered shovel wood, he raised it high above his chest. He brought it down.

            “ _No_!” Sasha screamed, throwing her left hand out. A wave of hot, searing energy collected in her chest and shot down her arm. The ruby on her ring shattered into tiny pieces as a ball of purple energy burst forth. It expanded and slammed into the vampire like a wall, shattering the wooden broom handle in his hand. The vampire soared through the air and smacked against the cemetery gate, falling to the ground, out cold.

            A pocket of hot air exploding above her ring and Sasha was blown backward off her feet. She fell against a headstone, forehead colliding off the marble, unconscious.

* * *

            Cold droplets of water smacked down on her face, causing Sasha to come to slowly. Disoriented as she was, it took her a while to realize that she was lying on her side, half her face in damp grass and her body soaked.

It was raining.

Letting out a creative string of curses, Sasha dragged herself to her feet, gasping as pain shot through her body. She cursed the day she had decided to leave California. A big, knotted ball of hatred for the small town of Bon Temps was growing in the pit of her stomach by the hour. She touched a hand to her forehead, wincing at how tender it felt. She wiped the wetness that had collected at her hairline, adding rain to her long list of curses.

The newborn was easy to find. He was slumped against the cemetery floor, an arm bent awkwardly through the black gate he had fallen against. Surprisingly he was still out cold; her fingers tingled as she looked up at the sky. Judging by the lifting darkness, they’d been out for hours.

Standing over him, her mind began to race. Poor Jack. Turned and abandoned by his maker. She hoped that, wherever he was, his maker could feel Jack’s misery and was feeling guilt as hell. Maybe he’d come back for him. Maybe this wasn’t at all what it looked like—maybe extenuating circumstances had forced Jack’s maker away, or maybe…

Or, maybe, Jack had been left to his new undead life. She recalled his miserable sobs and felt dread wash over her. That was the anguish of abandonment. In any case, it didn’t really matter now, not with dawn so quickly approaching. Wrinkling her nose in designated defeat, she stooped down, disregarding the pain that flared up her back as she wrapped her hands around his skinny ankles and began to drag him back to the shallow grave.

It looked like a long, long night was turning into a long, long day.

“ _Fuck_ Louisiana,” she muttered as she pulled the unexpectedly heavy boy through the grass and grime. “Bu fuck Bon Temps in particular,”

***          *          ***

Sasha slumped against Merlotte’s bar top, feeling especially self-pitiful. Although she’d finally had a shower back at her motel room, it was impossible to feel quite as fresh and squeaky-clean as she would have liked. The bags under her eyes were so heavy she swore she could feel them slipping down her cheeks, her mouth felt uncommonly dry, and she ached all over. She was also exhausted and ravenous, and the thin silk square she’d dug out of her bag and wrapped around her neck was hot.

            The silk square attracted a lot of attention that morning, and Sasha was confident in her guess that the patrons of Merlotte’s weren’t exactly interested in it because it was vintage Hermès. They weren’t completely stupid, and they all put two-and-two together and knew that a scarf, no matter how small, in mid-August was covering up fang marks. Her forehead itched, and Sasha rubbed absently at it, imagining _fangbanger_ tattooed strongly there. Even Sam Merlotte, who she’s surmised was the cautious and protective type over his town, was eyeing her with more mistrust than usual.

            “My eyes are up here, Sam,” she bit out. Between ghosts and newborn vampires, she really didn’t need ignorant, judgmental townsfolk giving her the evil eye before coffee. Sam’s baby blues darkened as they jumped back up to meet hers, jaw ticking a bit.

            “Late night?” he asked.

            “Says the nudist,” she shot back. “I don’t know what party _you_ were straggling back from at the ass crack of dawn in your birthday suit in, but I’m not about to give a grown ass man a lecture on something that isn’t my business,”

            She wasn’t really looking for a fight, even if all her pent up frustration and confusion and anger might have desired one. Sam, despite being weary of her since her arrival in town, had been gracious and generous, and he didn’t deserve her total feistiness. Still, she was torn between confusion and disappointment when he didn’t blow up with anger, didn’t meet her confrontational attitude with his own. Instead he looked a little alarmed.

            He coughed, shaking his head. “I ain’t surprised you saw some naked fella running around these parts, but it sure as hell wasn’t me. I’m goin’ get you that coffee you clearly need.”

            “Yeah, you do that,” Sasha said flatly. Her eyes narrowed on the back of his usual plaid shirt. Then they smoothed out. She was _so_ not about to go there; let Sam Merlotte keep whatever secret he was hiding to himself. Sasha was beyond sure that it had been him she’d seen streaking through the woods earlier that morning when she’d been leaving the cemetery. “Just so you know, nude owner of the local watering hole isn’t even the weirdest shit I’ve seen in this town,”

            Sam placed a big blue ceramic mug of coffee in front of her. The rich, nutty aroma of the coffee immediately soothed her. For a moment Sam stared at her, looking like he wanted to say something, maybe defend himself or probe her to explain what she meant. Then a similar, ‘not my problem’ look filled his eyes, and he held his hands up like a white flag.

            “What can I getcha?”

            “Something greasy and a lot of it, thanks,”

            Sam slapped the counter and then went over to put her order in. Her grumpy expression hadn’t let up any by the time he returned, just as the lines of tension in his shoulders were still present. But, as she took a sip of her coffee, her eyes peering at him over the lip of her enormous mug, she told him, “Sorry for snapping,”

            Sam glanced up at her, a smiling at the corners of his mouth. He pointed the pen he’d been using to jot down inventory at her. “Shut up and drink your free coffee,”

            Glad at least to have made peace with her coffee dealer—she was pleasantly surprised by just how good, great really, the coffee was here at Merlotte’s—she minded her own damn business as she waited for her breakfast. In her head she was putting together a bullet point list of what to do before she skipped town. It was a given she couldn’t leave the newborn just like that, not if his maker had truly abandoned him. If they couldn’t find his maker, she’d have to bring him to vampires, preferably one in authority. She wondered whose territory she was in, and if it was governed by a reasonable Sheriff and how far that Sheriff was located.

            She was halfway through her breakfast and plans when one of the hottest bits of town gossip walked into the diner. She recognized him as the man with the missing sister, and she observed him unabashedly as he took the seat next to hers at the bar, greeting Sam with a familiar nod of his head.

            “Lotta coffee, bud,” said the blond. Sam nodded, sympathy clear in his eyes as he filled up a mug for the blond.

            He looked a mess, his blue jeans faded and dirtied; white tank top not faring much better. The dark circles around his eyes even rivaled Sasha’s. She was about to return to her breakfast when something caught her attention out of her peripheral. There was something…just the barest hint of _something_ around him that puzzled her. She didn’t think it was there when she’d spotted him the day before at the diner. Had she been too far away? Was she so sleep deprived she was imagining things? She looked down at the gold band on her left ring finger. She’d left it on, feeling naked without it, even thought the rubies weren’t much more than dust in the cemetery now. Or perhaps it was the ring, it had prevented her from seeing things clearly.

            She glanced back to the blond for another look at the faded shimmer, only to meet his hard brown eyes instead.

            “You want to take a fucking picture, lady?”

            His tone was much more abrasive than his handsome, puppy-dog eyes had suggested. Knowing he was likely going through the hardest moment of his life what with a missing sister and all, she shrugged it off. She had, after all, been staring.

“Relax, blonds aren’t my type,”

            He snorted, shaking his head as a small smile made its way to his lips. It was tired, but it was a smile all the same. “I’m sorry I just—I’m Jason. Didn’t mean to snap at you like that,”

            “Common theme this morning,” muttered Sam, glancing at Sasha. She narrowed her eyes playfully at him. A mug of coffee had already worked wonders on her mood, as had the food. She made a note of leaving a tip for the cook.

“Sasha,” she said. She awkwardly dropped the hand she’d been about to extend, trying to pretend she was reaching for her napkin instead. She was sure both men noticed. But with whatever the hell strange energy was inside of her, she thought it best not to touch anyone.

            “You new in town?” asked Jason as a plate of bacon, eggs, and grits was placed before him. “Haven’t seen ya ‘round,”

“My car broke down just out of town,” said Sasha. For a second she squinted—nope, the aura-like thing was gone. Huh. “So I’m just around for it to get fixed and not a moment longer,”

            “What, you don’t like our little town? You a big city girl or something?” grinned Jason.

“The people seem great, but there’s a…strange vibe,” she said airily.

            “You’re right about that,” said Jason, stabbing a piece of bacon with his fork unnecessarily hard. “Fucking vampires crawlin’ everywhere—and the bad ones, we ain’t got much of the good ones, ‘cept Jess. People going crazy, people tearing out hearts—it’s been a weird fucking year, man,”

Sasha pursed her lips, not quite sure he was entirely talking to her anymore. So even the residents knew something wasn’t quite right about Bon Temps. There must be something about it that drew the strange; ley lines? Had some sort of mystic energy released, drawing others to it?

            _Nope, don’t want to know. Take care of the newborn, and_ then _I get the hell out of Dodge._

* * *

 

True to her word, Patty had the Camaro up and running by ten o’clock that morning. After she picked it up, Sasha stopped by the gas station, filling up the tank and picking up a few cheap blankets. Next was the butcher’s, where she picked up a gallon of pig’s blood for “cooking”. It certainly wouldn’t be anything like the human blood the newborn would be craving, especially now that he had a taste of hers, but it would have to do. It was at least, Sasha though, better than Tru Blood. For now, the newborn would need proper, _natural_ blood.

            Sasha parked the Camaro just outside the gates of the cemetery, humming to herself as she went around to the trunk. It was just minutes to sundown, and her self-entrusted charge would be up soon. He also posed a bit of a threat, and so she rooted around the trunk for the trick compartment she knew to be there, opening it and revealing the silver and wood stakes. She jammed a small stake into her jeans, then shut the trunk. She prayed she wouldn’t need it, because she wasn’t sure if she’d actually have it in her to use.

            When the sun was passed the horizon, the earth started moving at Jack’s grave. She leaned against the back of Drew Marshall’s headstone, waiting for Jack to climb out once again. The look of shock at the sight of her nearly caused her to smile, and she held up the gallon of pig’s blood.

            “Thirsty?”

* * *

 

“That was kind of disgusting,” said Jack, grimacing as he handed her the pig’s blood. He hadn’t drank much, but still more than she’d expected. “Your blood was so much better. Sorry,” he quickly added sheepishly.

Sasha smiled at him, shaking her head. “You’re forgiven. I’m not going to say don’t worry about it, because you have to be very careful, but I’m still alive and in one piece so, all things considered, we’re good. Just remember, others won’t be so understanding,”

Jack nodded vigorously, glancing down at her. He was a thin boy, lanky really, and much taller than her. For a moment his eyes dropped to the vein at her neck—she could see he was almost mesmerized—then he screwed his eyes shut and looked away, a look of shame crossing his features.

            “Why. Why do you understand? _How_ can you?” he asked.

Sasha stepped away a little to give him space, noting that he had stopped breathing. “I know a fair few vampires. Vampires are different; that doesn’t make them— _you—_ bad,”

“But I bit you,” he said regretfully. “I really hurt you. I could have—”

            “But you didn’t,” Sasha said firmly. “You didn’t and when you realized what you had done, you realized it was wrong. You have good instincts, and you’re already showing tremendous amounts of self-control. Now come on, we’ll get you cleaned up,”

            But Jack stood his ground. “Why are you helping me? Is it because you’re a—I don’t know. What was that thing you did to me?”

“Because no one should go through this change alone. A parent should never leave their child, and the vampire that turned you should have been that to you. A parent.” Said Sasha. “The rest isn’t so easy to explain.”

            Jack was quiet after that, but he let her wrap him in a blanket and usher him to her car. She took him back to the motel, showing him to the shower and giving him the fresh clothes she’d bought earlier in the day. He’d looked incredibly vulnerable when he’d thanked her that and, when she heard him sob in the shower, she hoped they weren’t only tears of despair he was shedding.

When Jack was clean and dressed, he perched on the edge of her bed, looking around curiously. While he did, Sasha decided that he was absolutely adorable. He was a beautiful boy, all lanky limbs and sweet, curling black hair. His blue eyes had an innocence she hoped he would never lose.

“He wasn’t supposed to turn me,” Jack said finally, quietly. “Peter.”

            It took him a while, but Jack was finally able to explain his story to her. He was seventeen—would forever be seventeen he realized as he introduced himself, and didn’t have anyone. He’d bounced around foster homes all his life, and his most recent house hadn’t been cruel like others had been, but the family had most neglected him, ignoring him even, interested in the checks they were paid to care for him but not in loving him.

“And so then, then I meet _him_ ,”

            Sasha’s heart broke with every word. Jack had met Peter one night when he’d been walking around aimlessly. Peter had chided him for being out so late, when the world was most dangerous. He’d walked Peter home and, during that time, had filled the darkness with brilliant stories of the many lifetimes he had lived. Over time, Jack had begun to live for nights, when he could sneak away to be with Peter, the older man and vampire that had begun to feel like a father figure.

            Then one night Peter had asked to taste his blood. Jack had been all-too willing, eager to please this unlikely parent-like figure. He’d let Peter feed from him, and what begun as an occasional thing soon became routine, to the point that it was affecting his health and his foster family began to think he was on drugs.

“That’s when they kicked me out,” Jack admitted. “And I couldn’t tell them the truth. So I went to find Peter. I thought, I though maybe I could live with him.”

            But Peter hadn’t liked that, and in a fit of anger and a feeding frenzy, had attacked Jack. He had drained him and, when he’d realized what he’d done, turned him. But he hadn’t hung around.

“He said he’d fixed his mistake, that I should be grateful,” said Jack. “He said it was what I wanted all along, but it wasn’t I swear it wasn’t. I just wanted—”

            He’d wanted a family. That resonated with Sasha so deeply her hands shook. Curling them into fists on her knees, she asked.

            “And then he left?”

“No. Not, not then. First he said, he said _something,_ and then he was gone. And I was in so much pain—I just hurt for so long, and it was almost dawn and my skin started to blister so I burrowed back under ground. Then the next night, when I rose, I could still feel it. It’s gone now, the pain, but I feel so, so…empty,”

The final piece of her heart shattered. “What did he say? What words did he say, Jack?”

            Jack’s brow furrowed. “He said, ‘As your maker, I release you’. What does that mean, Sasha?”

            Sasha’s eyes fluttered shut. Not only had Jack’s maker abandoned him to this new life, he’d Released him when the blood bond between maker and progeny was still fresh. There was no doubt in her mind that this Peter vampire was a monster.

“I’ll explain everything to you. I just need to know something first, Jack. Do you know where Peter lived? What his last name was? Where he liked to hang out?”

            Jack’s eyes fell as he shook his head. “No. We always met at the park. But he did talk about a place a lot. He complained about it a lot, because…” Jack frowned. “It was so strange. He talked about a bar, but he said he had to go there every once in a while, that he didn’t have a choice. And he mentioned a tax? That he did his taxes at this bar? No, that can’t be right…”

            But that sparked something in Sasha.

            “That doesn’t sound as crazy as you’d think, Jack. Do you remember the name of this bar?”

            Jack glanced up at the ceiling, concentrating hard. “It was something kind of silly, kind of funny. It was obvious… Oh! I remember! Fangtasia. The bar’s name is Fangtasia,”

            “Then that’s where we’ll go.”

* * *

 

Between the mortal and the immortal, it was the newborn vampire that was the most nervous about going to the vampire bar. Sasha filled the forty-minute drive by answering every question he had, though she skirted a few she thought might require more delicate explanation. He was so caught up in his own newfound vampirism that he didn’t ask about her strange power again. But when he insisted, she explained what being Released meant. He was silent for a long moment after that. He was a kid that had been given up by his parents in his human life, and now forsaken by his vampire maker. She could imagine what he was thinking, and she hated it, because she’d been there before.

In her head she started making plans. There was a place for him in California, if he wanted it. Yes, she’d send him to Los Angeles, to the nest, where he would be properly taken care of and where, perhaps for the first time in his life, have a proper family. But first she’d take care of his would-be maker.

Sasha had a strong hunch that this vampire bar was owned by a Sheriff. It would make sense; Jack had mentioned taxes, and it was the duty of the Sheriffs of each Area to collect taxes for their monarchs and the Authority. Vampires in authority weren’t exactly easy to deal with, especially considering she was a human, but she wasn’t too worried. Under new AVL law, Peter had broken vampire law by turning an under-aged human. Worse, he’d abandoned the newborn, when Jack could have possibly lost all control and killed many. Now _that_ would certainly be something the AVL would consider a PR mess.

“Sasha, wait,” called out Jack. He looked very shy, peering at her from over the Camaro. “How are you not freaking out right now?”

            Sasha raised an eyebrow at him. “I know your thing is pretty big, but you never asked what _I_ was going in a cemetery from a town I’m not even from,”

            Jack frowned, apparently realizing the same thing. “Um, what, what were you doing?”

“I was burning the remains of a ghost that tried to drown me,” she told him easily. “Vampires at least have a rules and laws. Ghosts don’t.”

Stunned, Jack followed after her as they approached the bar. The line was incredibly long and unmobing, and she had no intention of waiting in it. They were burning night, and there was no telling how long the Sheriff would make them wait once inside, if they even decided to see them. Sasha tapped Jack’s elbow.

            “Come on,”

            “What? Wait, Sasha—the line!”

            She ignored Jack, striding instead right up to the bouncer. The tall, striking blonde was clearly vampire, and as they had vampire business and not partying to get to, Sasha had no qualms about skipping up the line.

“Well _hello_ brown sugar,” purred the vampire. Sasha’s eyebrow lifted as she stared back at the vampire. Apparently, tall, blue-eyed vampires where in abundance in these parts. Over her shoulder Jack was a nervous ball of energy. She ignored the complaints behind her that they’d skipped the line. “I like you think you’re cute enough to just skip the line. Hmm,” she smirked, looking over Sasha. “You just might be,”

“Here’s my ID, and he’s dead,” Sasha said shortly, handing over her driver’s license. As the vampire carefully looked over the ID, Sasha continued. “We’re here for an audience with the Sheriff. I hear he does business here,”

The vampire’s eyes flicked to her, and for a moment her blue eyes couldn’t hide her surprise. She hid it quickly, handing back Sasha’s ID.

“This _is_ the Sheriff’s business,” said the vampire. She dragged her eyes over her suggestively. “And he doesn’t take walk-ins. Although, just this once he might make an exception for _you_ , hot chocolate,”

            Sasha still wasn’t impressed with the nicknames, even if the gorgeous vampire’s scrutiny ordinarily would have been enough to make her blush. Tonight she’d just been through too much. “Where do I find him?”

Vampire Barbie’s lips curled into a smirk. “Oh, you can’t miss him, sugar,”

            Sasha stepped into the club with Jack close behind, suddenly feeling like she’d stepped into the lion’s den.

* * *

 

Eric was, for the lack of a better term, bored. His recent life had been a string of excitement—Fae, revenge, death, blood, hell, a fucking maenad—and now nothing. Now it was his club, night in and night out, and the most exciting thing had been when he’d thrown out a vampire last week for feeding on a human.

For once, even sitting on his throne didn’t bring him the usual satisfaction. He used to love sitting in that chair, looking over the little empire he’d built from what the Magister had tried to punish him with. He had loved Fangtasia and he still had, but now he longed for something else to fill his time with, some knew toy to amuse him. His eyes landed on a stripper—a new hire—and he resolved that she was as good as it was going to get tonight. He was about to curl a finger in her direction when _she_ walked in.

She was dressed in all black tonight, and the way she strode into his club in those form-fitting black jeans and that simple t-shirt made her look unfairly delicious. The golden tones in her brown hair picked up the colors from the strobes, illuminating her like a delicious little treat.

Eric hadn’t expected to see her again, though a strong part of him had hoped, feeling that they could have had enormous potential for a night in bed. He watched her now scan the club—was it possible she was searching for him?—when he realized she was not alone. A boy was behind her, vampire, and from the way that he carried himself, Eric could guess quite young.

He saw the exact moment her eyes landed on him. Surprise filtered there and then, Eric thought, unease Her gaze returned to the young vampire, and Eric saw that his features were contorted in pain, hands over his ears. When she leaned in and whispered something in his ear, Eric listened in, too. She was telling him how to shut out all the sounds but the ones that mattered so he wouldn’t be overwhelmed.

            Who the hell was this Sasha girl?

When she looked up again, Eric gestured for her to come forward and she did, the vampire boy following behind her dutifully though he was looking around curiously, perhaps a little eagerly now that he wasn’t so overwhelmed by the explosion of sound.

            “And so we meet again,” said Eric once she stood before him.

“ _Sheriff_ Eric Northman,” she said, dipping her head respectfully. The gesture surprised him even more than her appearance in his club, and his curiosity threatened to get the best of him when she hissed somewhat exasperatedly, “ _Jack_ ,”

Jack, as it appeared the young vampire was named, had been staring at him in awe. Eric was sure that he was feeling the power radiating off of him, that instinct was telling him that even as a predator, he was currently a mere cub before an alpha. At Sasha’s hiss, the vampire started, and he too dipped his head awkwardly.

            “Um, Mister—er, Sheriff Northman,” the boy said quickly.

Eric stared at the young vampire for a moment longer, then his eyes returned to Sasha.

            “Imagine my surprise to see you here in my club,” he told her. “More car troubles?

            Sasha shook her head, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. “Imagine my surprise I’d unwittingly hitchhiked with a Sheriff,” she told him. She looked about the club, and he could see her registering the vampires in the room.

“Shérif _,_ ” she said, her sudden turn to French piquing his interest. “On m’a dit que vous n’êtes que sur rendez-vous, mais il y a des questions urgentes et delicates à discuter. Voulez-vous nous épargner un moment pour nous?”

            He considered her request for longer than was necessary. He’d made up his mind the second she’d asked to speak to him privately. An urgent and delicate matter to discuss? Well wasn’t that just the icing on the cake.

            Eric rose, nimbly buttoning his suit jacket. Then he extended a hand in the direction of his office.

            “Follow me.”


	4. Power Play

            Eric Northman’s office was rather bare, and it wasn’t anything like the kitschy, gaudy club, nor was it marked by the indulgence she knew his car to be. Slowly she began to put together bits and pieces to form a mosaic of the vampire.

            Already she was familiar with his name. She’d heard stories of him from a very enthusiastic vampire admirer of his back on Los Angeles. She wasn’t sure how truthful the stories of his strength and brutality were, but as a historian, Sasha knew that even the most outlandish tale had some granule of truth to it. What she knew for certain was that she was standing in the same room as the only known living Viking. She knew he was over a thousand years old and therefore not only her superior in strength and speed but that of every creature likely for miles, if not the state, and she’d hazard that he was also very intelligent and very cunning. Few vampires made it to his age if they were anything but.

            Next Sasha considered what she knew from her own experience. He was capable of being standoffish and very sarcastic, but also of being charming. He possessed a sense of humor, drove a flashy car outfitted with every upgrade available, and yet his office was surprisingly sparse and efficient. Looking around, she saw that there wasn’t a single piece of fancy or antique, heavyweight furniture, no excessive show of wealth in the form of priceless artifacts or invaluable artwork on the walls. Instead the office appeared to contain only what it needed; a computer and copious amounts of paperwork, racks of merchandise from the gift shop and inventory from the bar. There were only two pieces of something personal in the whole room she could immediately spot, and that was two photographs. One was of Eric and the blonde vampire from the door, and it looked to be somewhat dated judging by their clothes and hair. The second one was of a drawing of a Viking boat. The first picture led Sasha to believe that the blonde vampire was either his lover or progeny or both, and the second revealed nothing new.

            All in all, Sasha guessed that Eric had a place either in Shreveport or in the outskirts of the city he considered home, somewhere safe and somewhere he kept his personal possessions. Her second conclusion was that the stories about Eric’s reputation probably weren’t for show. If this was where he conducted business, he didn’t feel the need for a showy, outwardly expression of his wealth and power. _He_ was enough for all that.

            As Eric took a seat behind his desk and gestured for them to sit, Sasha saw that she’d been caught looking. Eric appeared likewise unabashed with his staring.

            In French, he asked her, “ _How old are you?_ ”

            There was no use in lying or trying to avoid the answer. Sasha thought there would be plenty of that later, and that wasn’t a detail she felt would give him any leverage over her anyway.

            “ _Twenty-four, Sheriff,”_

            Whatever he thought, he didn’t reveal, and his eyes flickered momentarily to Jack. “ _You were right. I’m typically by appointment only, unless there’s an emergency. So?_ ”

            Jack cleared his throat, realizing he was being talked about, but in the dark as to what was being said. Sasha flashed him an apologetic smile.

            “He wants to know why we’re here,” said Sasha.

            Quickly, she told Eric everything—everything but the encounter with Drew Marshall’s ghost and the accidental magic she’d cast. His eyes remained intently on her all the while, and it took all her skill to remain cool and collected, to appear like she wasn’t hiding anything at all. His eyes were still on her when Jack filled in his side of the story, at least until he got to the part of being Released.

            “He did what?” Eric asked lowly.

            “H-He released me,” Jack said nervously, eyes straying back to Sasha.

            “Don’t look at her. Look at me,” Eric said firmly.

            “He Released me,” repeated Jack. “I didn’t know what it meant until Sasha explained it to me. I didn’t know anything until she taught me,”

            Eric took in a deep breath, looking a mixture of angry and deeply bored, like he couldn’t believe his night had been disrupted for such a disaster. It remained silent, the office filled only with the thud of music from the club, its vibrato soft enough it wasn’t distracting, but strong enough it danced across Sasha’s skin. She could feel Jack’s festering anxiety beside her, and she had to force herself not to reach out for his hand.

            A moment later the office door opened and the blonde in latex came sauntering in, a hand on her cocked hip. Seeing Sasha, she winked.   
            “Told you he’d see you,” she said. Then, to Eric, “You called?”

            That confirmed Sasha’s suspicion, or at least half of it. She was at the very least his progeny.

            “Pam, this is Jack. Take him to the bar for a Tru Blood,”

            Pam’s perfectly arched eyebrow sprang up, blue eyes swimming with apparent interest as her eyes darted between Sasha and Jack. She licked her lips and said something to Eric. Sasha detected the lilt of a question to her tone, but the Swedish was lost to her.

            “Pamela,” Eric said shortly. Pam clicked her tongue, casting a final look at Sasha as she sauntered out of the room with a walk a supermodel could envy. Jack looked to Sasha for approval; she nodded.

            Silence prevailed in the office as the two vampires left, filled only with the pulse of the music down the hall. She did not falter under his gaze, careful not to let the power shift fully into his hands. He might be at the advantage as the Sheriff and powerful vampire in the room, but she wasn’t just any human. She had a few tricks up her sleeve that although she’d rather not reveal, she would to get what she wanted. Her phone felt heavier in her pocket all of a sudden, like the reminder of the dangerous power a single phone call could enact.

            “What were you doing in that cemetery? You’re not from the area, so it’s not like you had family to visit,”

            Internally, Sasha cursed. The way he asked made it clear that he did not believe in mere coincidences. She either had to lie extremely convincingly, or she had to tell him the truth.

            _Or,_ thought Sasha, _or you can do a little of both._

            “There aren’t a lot of interesting places in Bon Temps,” she began, casually laying the bait.

            “So you happened to visit the one place an orphaned newborn vampire was buried?” asked Eric. His fingers tapped against the flat top of his desk. “Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe,”

            “I have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Trust me, you’re not the only one to have noticed,” said Sasha. “I went to the cemetery because I heard it was haunted,”

            “And you believed these rumors?”

            “Not really. But a waitress from that place you dropped me off at, Merlotte’s? Well she swore her ex-husband was haunting her. Every wife with a dead ex-husband says that. But rumor had it that he wasn’t just some guy, but a serial killer…” Sasha shrugged. “I got curious,”

            She hoped he’d buy it, in any case. He knew she hung around vampires, and now she implied that she found enjoyment in perusing cemeteries for serial killer’s graves and possible hauntings. Hopefully he’d write her off as an average girl with a predilection for the gothic and morbid, nothing farfetched for a human that found themselves entangled with vampires.

            Eric hummed in response, looking somewhat unconvinced, but not like he didn’t believe her, either. He rose quickly, coming to lean against the desk before her. For a moment his long, lean legs distracted her. She gasped when he leaned in suddenly, so close to her that his nose teased the skin of her neck. The hair on her body rose at the unexpected and sensual feel of him so intimately close, and she stood stock still as he breathed in her scent. When he pulled back, the ring of blue in his eyes was far thinner than it had been seconds ago.

            “I don’t smell another vampire on you.”

            “You wouldn’t,” she told him. “I’m neither claimed nor am I bonded to one,”

            “And yet you know so much about vampires. You’re comfortable around us. Who are you?”

            This meeting with the Sheriff was quickly veering off her intended course, partly because just looking at him made her blood sing in her veins and a coil tighten and flex in her belly, and partly because he was far too interested in her when she wanted to get Jack taken care of.

            “Sheriff, I’d appreciate it if we could return to our business,”

            Eric folded his arms across his chest, and with the way that the fabric of his suit jacket pulled taught against his muscles, she thought the move was entirely deliberate. Her jaw tightened. He might have been a walking sin, but if he thought she was more interested in fucking vampires than getting justice for the newborn at the bar, he had completely misjudged her.

            “Which is?”

            “I thought that was obvious,” said Sasha. She had to fight to keep her tone calm, but it was impossible to keep a hint of malice out of it. “The vampire that turned Jack, this Peter, I want him punished,”

            An unexpected emotion crossed Eric right then: amusement. Light and color returned to his eyes, and this time a low chuckle escaped him as he leaned back to grip the edge of his desk. “Oh, you want him punished. That’s very cute, princess,”

            “Peter broke vampire law. Not only did he turn an under age human against his will—to cover his own tracks might I add, for illegally feeding on him—but he then Released a fledgling vampire without giving him any tools for survival. You might not care about Jacks’ life, but Jack could have killed quite a few humans and damaged everything the AVL has worked to achieve. As a Sheriff it’s your duty to—”

            Eric’s growl of warning cut her off. “Tread carefully. Are you really going to tell me how to do my job?”

            “That depends,” Sasha said coolly, even as a tornado of flame-like fury built in her chest. Every intention of remaining collected and cool was burnt to ash. “Do you need a reminder?”

            His hand was wrapped around her throat in an instant, not tight enough to constrict her breathing, but hard enough she winced as his fingers pressed against the bruises Drew Marshall’s ghost had left behind. She focused for a second on the extended fangs just millimeters from her mouth.      

            “I don’t know what kind of vampires you’re used to, but you’ll not speak to me that way simply because you’re a fuckable little treat in a tight skirt. Understood?” His voice was deceptively soft, and yet there was no mistaking the threat there, the promise of punishment.

            That thrum of power and raw energy was building up beneath her skin once again at his threat, and she quickly batted it down, not wanting the purple light to make reappearance. She wasn’t willing to try to explain something she didn’t fully understand yet, much less reveal something that was likely to get her neck snapped right then and there. And that was best-case scenario.

            “I swear you smell better by the second,” murmured Eric, his eyes searching hers. His cool breath tickled her lips like the tiny pinpricks of falling snowflakes.

            “Let. Go,” she told him.

            Eric stared at her long and hard for another moment. Then he did release her, though she got the understood that he’d released her because he was done with her, not because she’d demanded he do so. The phone in her pocket buzzed, signaling an incoming text. Eric ignored it, but she was reminded again that a single phone call and she’d have a bargaining chip. But her hands remained in her lap, unwilling to give up so easily.

            “This matters to you. Why?” asked Eric.

            “Because I have a fucking heart,” said Sasha. “Jack died and came back vampire against his will. His maker has abandoned him. That’s not right.”

* * *

            Abandoned.

            Abandoned.

            _Abandoned._

            The word kept repeating itself in Eric’s head long after Sasha and the newborn had gone, and long after he’d taken to his throne once again. The usual mass of dancers, human and vampire, became a silent moving corpus as he contemplated the curly haired girl. She’d been incredibly poised, allowing him to see only what she wanted him to see, careful to contain and curb her emotions. Mostly she was successful, but her mistake had come when she’d used the word ‘abandoned’ rather than Released. For that brief moment, Eric had a window into Sasha Buckley. He was certain now that at some point in her youth, she had been abandoned by either one or both parents. Perhaps she’d rebelled by falling in with vampires—it didn’t really matter at this point, because she’d been right. A vampire in his territory had broken law, and he wasn’t ever one to let such a thing slide.

            That didn’t stop his growing curiosity for the girl.

            “Who was she?” asked Pam, coming to stand by his side. “She smelled divine, Eric. You should have convinced her to stay after _business_ was conducted,”

            “If I had, I wouldn’t have shared,” muttered Eric. Pam scoffed, rolling her eyes.

            “Your old age is making you greedy and selfish. I miss the days we’d share a girl,” she told him. He quirked an eyebrow.

            “I believe the last time I expressed interest in sharing a human was ’84,” said Eric. “And you shut me down,”

            “Yeah, well,” said Pam. “Progeny do as progeny sees,”

* * *

 

            “What’s going to happen to me?” asked Jack they drove back to Bon Temps. Sasha glanced at him. She reached up to tousle her curls, realizing her mistake too lake. The motion swirled her scent around the Camaro, and she saw his fingers curl against his knees, his mouth press into a tight line as his teeth ground against each other.

            She casually reached for the window dial. A blast of fresh, cold night air filled the car, washing over them and replacing her scent.

            “You won’t be going through this alone, kid. We’ll get you sorted,” She promised him.

            “Thanks Sasha—I don’t know what I would have done—actually I do,” Jack muttered darkly. “I wasn’t going to sit in the ground again. I would’ve just waited for sunrise,”

            Sasha glanced his way sadly. “I promise it’ll get better, Jack. This has been a terrible experience, I know, but being a vampire isn’t all bad. Actually, there’s never been a better time than now to be vampire. You’ll see.”

* * *

 

            For her third morning in a row, Sasha Buckley was sitting in a red-cushioned stool at Merlotte’s for the breakfast special. Her hair was thrown up in a messy knot because she’d been too lazy to get it untangled, and she was dressed simply in a crème colored linen romper. As always, her Doc Martens were on her feet, and she’d gone as far as putting on a light layer of make up in an effort to prove to the citizens of Bon Temps that she wasn’t a complete freak.

            She’d also needed to blend foundation down to her neck, where she was sporting a few more bruises. While Eric’s hand wrapped around her throat wasn’t as terrible as Drew Marshall’s attempt at murdering her, she was ready to not have a hand wrapped around her throat for a very long while.

            “Back again, huh?” asked Sam Merlotte, refilling her mug of coffee. He’d been in late earlier in the morning, rushing in with an apology to his staff about his morning run being extended. Sasha had, with difficulty, restricted the urge to inquire whether his morning run consisted of clothing or not.

            “Am I a local yet?”

            Sam grinned, leaning on his forearms as she methodically devoured her plate. She could have sworn that, for just a quick second, Sam had _sniffed_ her. She didn’t mention it, mostly because if Sam turned out to be some kind of freak—and there was a good chance he was—he likely still wasn’t the strangest thing around the small town.

            “I get the feeling you’re around for more than just breakfast,” he said.

            “Right you are,” she said, nodding. She took a large sip of coffee to wash down the mouthful of hash browns she was nearly choking on. “I’ll be sticking around for a little while longer. Earl is nice but his motel is not. Know of any place that can be rented out for a few weeks?”

            She didn’t miss his hesitation, but then Sam smiled. “Yeah, actually, you’re at the right place. I have a few properties in town I rent out. Thing is, the only place that might currently be suited, that’s on a month-by-month lease situation,”

            “You take cash?” asked Sasha. Again, she saw that he was conflicted, and he wondered what it was specifically about her that made him so weary. She didn’t think she came across as mistrustful; she liked to think she was the opposite. Sasha had often been told she was quite charming.

            “Yeah, yeah I take cash,” Sam finally said. They worked out the details—utilities were included in the rent, which was a whopping six-hundred dollars. Sasha had laughed at that; a two-bedroom, one bathroom bungalow in LA would have cost _at least_ three times that. For all of his reservations—whatever they might be—Sam was very nice to her, leaving the bar in Arlene’s capable hands and driving over to the house with her so she could get situated right away.

            It was a small bungalow that looked to be recently renovated, cute and very small town. It was pained a deep reddish brown, and had white trim around it. Although the décor was just awful, the inside was just what she needed and nothing more, and Sam explained that it was last on the list of places he was currently upgrading and doing work. She assured him it as all very fine, and when he left her with the keys and his number should she need anything, she set to work. She’d contemplated asking if he had a problem with a vampire for a tenant, but then again he hadn’t exactly asked to run a background check on her, and she told herself she’d cross that bridge when she got to it. Or possibly burn it down, as it were.

            The larger of the two bedroom was the one better equipped to being made light-tight, as it had one large window as opposed to the two the other had. She found a tape measure under the sink and measured out the window, jotting down the measurements. She spent the rest of the morning and afternoon buying the supplies she needed—groceries for her and Tru Blood for Jack, as well as heavy duty supplies for Jack’s bedroom. Eoin had taught her a few years ago how to make an emergency light-tight room, and she finally put the knowledge to good use.

            She wasn’t sure how long she’d be sticking around Bon Temps, but she didn’t want to leave Jack, and he couldn’t leave until the situation with Peter was cleared up. Eric Northman had made that clear, though she had the nagging suspicion that the order to stay in his Area had also extended to her.

            When the sun started to sink below the horizon, Sasha drove over to the cemetery. Jack had been given the option of staying at Eric Northman’s club in a cushy coffin, but the newborn vampire had been incredibly intimidated by the other vampires, so much so that he’d preferred to bury himself in the ground another night. Sasha had the feeling that, imposing as the Sheriff had been; it had been his time with his progeny, Pam that had cemented these feelings for Jack. She wasn’t sure what had been said at the bar, but Jack had returned whiter than he already was.

            As day melted into night in an explosion of color on the western horizon, Sasha found herself staring at Drew Marshall’s grave. Although the rectangular patch of dirt she’d dug up three nights ago was still disturbed, it was showing signs of settling once again, tiny shoots visible in the grass. That was a good sign; the grass had been dead while Drew Marshall’s ghost had been haunting their plane.

            Jack dug himself free of his shallow grave, though this night it was in far better spirits than any other time as he came over to her and accepted the big blanket she offered. As he brushed dirt out of his hair, he asked her what the plan was.

            “I got us a place in town,” said Sasha. “Which means you have an actual light-tight room and won’t have to sleep in a grave again. We’ll finesse other details when we’re comfortable and somewhere private,”

            “Cool,” said Jack as they trooped back to the house. “This is going to sound a little weird, but I don’t mind sleeping in a grave all that much. Being all dirty sucks, but… I don’t know. It was kind of comforting,”

            “It’s not weird at all,” Sasha told him as they got into the Camaro. “Especially so close to your turn. The dark, small space… instinct tells you it’s safe,”

            “Huh,” said Jack thoughtfully. He remained quiet for a while as she drove them, his eyes drinking in the world around them with interest. She could tell that, as he adapted to his new situation, he was starting to take interest and perhaps, even an appreciation for the new senses he had.

            “Holy shit!”

            That was his exclamation when she parked in the driveway of the rental property, his eyes going wide as he took in the house. “This is really, really nice, Sasha!”

            Given her mode of living in the last decade or so, Sasha thought that _quaint_ was a far better word. Still, she smiled at the young vampire all the same and ushered him inside. It wasn’t until she showed him to his room that he started to cry.

            “I’m sorry,” he quickly sniffled, hiding his bloodstained cheeks from her ashamedly. “I-I’ve never had my own room before,”

            Sasha looked around the room; it wasn’t anything special, furnished with the things Sam had already had in it. This room had a queen-sized bed with atrocious yellow sheets—Sasha had made a note of removing them immediately, then reminded herself this was all extremely temporary—and a night stand, a small bookcase with a few old comics, and a small closet. She’d added a mini-fridge she’d collected from the local hardware store that afternoon, and it was now filled with Tru Blood.

            “You’re going to be leading a very different life from now on, Jack,” said Sasha. “But it doesn’t mean it has to be a bad thing. You can choose to treat this as a second chance at a better life on your terms,”

            Jack looked a little dubious about that, but he nodded all the same. She told him to go on and take a shower, and then retreated to the living room.

* * *

 

            Jack emerged from the bathroom half an hour later clean and with his long black hair still wet, dressed in a pair of black sweats she’d bought him. He thanked her profusely for the clothes—it was really only a pack of plain t-shirts, a pack of boxers, a pair of sweats and a pair of jeans—and she in turn told him to worry about it, that they’d go shopping as soon as he was ready to go out in public.

            “I um,” he suddenly turned very shy and, if he’d had a pulse, she was certain his cheeks would have turned very red. “I don’t have any money,”

            “Don’t worry about that,” said Sasha as she dug through her bag for a pen and the notebook she’d picked up earlier. “You’re covered,”

            “By who? You?” asked Jack, suddenly agitated. He was pacing before the couch in the next second, tension in his shoulders strong. She felt a spike of energy in her, instinct warning her that an agitated newborn could be very dangerous. Even so she forced herself to appear calm, not wanting to offend or set Jack off.

            “This is all just, it’s just a little too good to be true, you know? Last time anyone was this nice to me, well, he killed me,” exclaimed Jack. “And I’m sorry, I really am, but I don’t get why you’re so nice to me, why you’re spending money on me, why you’re standing up to vampire Sheriffs for me—it just doesn’t make any sense! I don’t even get why you know so much about vampires if you’re not one! And what about that weird light, huh? What are you? Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that!”

            She waited until he’d walked off some of his distress before answering. It was unfair to demand that Jack trust her—especially after everything that he’d been through with the foster system and then Peter. He might have latched onto her and spilled his life story when they’d first met, but he’d been emotionally distressed. Now that he was able to sort through his feeling and thoughts a little bit better, that the world was starting to spin at a more reasonable rate, all of his fears and suspicions were catching up. If he was going to trust her, she was going to have to trust him.

            “I know it’s unfair to ask you to trust me, especially with everything you’ve been through. I promise that I will try very hard to earn your trust, Jack,” she told him.

            “But why?!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “I—I’m a monster now, but I’m nothing special, just like I wasn’t anything special before! I’m just Jack! People didn’t care about me when I was human—what the hell difference does me being dead have? I bet you no one is even looking for me!”

            “Jack, I’m going to trust you and then, I hope, with time, you can trust me,” she told him. He looked a little unconvinced, but he nodded and took a seat on the armchair across from her. Sasha placed the notepad in her hand on the coffee table; she’d intended to gather as much information from Jack about Peter as she could, but this seemed more important before they could move forward.

            “I’m listening,” he said. His blue eyes were weary as he watched her intently.

            Sasha drew in a deep breath. “To answer one of your questions, I know vampires so well because I was raised by them.”


	5. Origin

**_4 July 1996_ **

_Her small hand brushed the beads of perspiration that had collected on her forehead as Sasha Buckley carefully wrapped the turquoise sequin scarf around the top of her head. A massive heat wave was terrorizing Las Vegas, but she’d learned earlier that week that not wearing the makeshift headscarf raked in fewer customers. Tourists found the idea of a child psychic absolutely adorable (“Gee, and when I was your age all I could think up was a lemonade stand!”) and the better she fit their idea of a psychic, the more money she made. Her eyes helped too; she’d learned at five how to explain Heterochromia (even though she couldn’t quite pronounce it) and that other children noted her one gold eye and one green eye and moved on. It was the adults that couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop wondering about it. Adults were funny like that. Lately she’d taken to marketing her gold eye as her “inner eye”, after one of the men in high heels that stood on the corner of where she was staying at suggested it. Candi was full of good advice, and had even been kind enough to gift her the scarf she wore on her head._

_Sasha didn’t like Las Vegas. It was useless and ugly during the day, and strange and dangerous in the night. Adults on the Strip forgot themselves; it was like when night fell and they stepped out in their glitzy all sense of propriety evaporated._

_“Prop-ri-ety,” Sasha annunciated. Candi had taught her that word._

_She pinched her cheeks a little and then smoothed out the fuchsia dress she wore. She’d found it on the street just a few mornings ago—that was another thing about the adults around here, they couldn’t seem to keep track of their clothes—and Candi had helped her cut it to fit her and given her lots of plastic gold jewelry to accessorize._

_All dressed, Sasha exited the bathroom of the little diner she had gotten changed in. Mercy, one of the waitresses, grinned at her._

_“You got time for a milkshake, kid? On the house,” she promised. Like Candi, Mercy was very nice, always sneaking her food from the kitchens and making her milkshakes. She wore too much make up, but Sasha had caught a glimpse of why in the diner bathroom. Mercy was always covered in bruises. Mercy had cried a little when Sasha had seen them, and though Sasha didn’t really understand why, and had tried to make her feel better by gifting her a tube of lip gloss._

_“Can’t. Have to go to work,” said Sasha._

_“All right, working girl. How much to go?” asked Mercy, cocking a hip on her sun-yellow uniform._

_“Another two hundred dollars at least,” said Sasha._

_“Hmm,” said Mercy thoughtfully. “Well, think you wanna read my palm? I’ll give you…” Mercy fished around the front pocket of her apron. “I’ll give you eight bucks for it,”_

_“Eight bucks and that milkshake and you have a deal,” said Sasha. Mercy laughed, waving her over to a free table._

_“Okay, okay,” she said excitedly, placing the back of her hand flat on the table. “What’s in my future, kid?”_

_Sasha, of course, couldn’t really see the future. Mercy knew that, just like Candi did. It was all make believe—usually tourists wanting to know if they’d make it big, what their lucky numbers would be. One night she’d given a tourist their ‘lucky number’ and he’d hit the jackpot. He’d found her after and given her five dollar to thank her. That had also been the night she learned people were assholes._

_Still, there were other times when Sasha touched people and she saw more than either of them bargained for. Sometimes she would get feelings, sometimes a clear picture. It didn’t always mean anything, but sometimes it frightened her, because people hid dirty, ugly things under their skin._

_Carefully, Sasha took Mercy’s hand._

_“So?” asked Mercy with a little laugh. “Is some beautiful, rich, fabulous man gonna come sweep me off my feet or what?”_

_“You’re pregnant.”_

_Mercy stared at her in shock, and Sasha blinking rapidly. She hadn’t even formed the thought before her mouth had spoken for her. Mercy snatched her hand away, reaching up to fluff her curls. It was shaking._

_“Um, look, come by another time for that shake. It’s a night,”_

_Mercy hurried away, zigzagging through empty tables, leaving Sasha in the corner booth._

_“Hey! You forgot my eight dollars!”_

* * *

 

“Was she really pregnant?” asked Jack.

            “Yeah, she was,” said Sasha. “And when her boyfriend found out, he killed her.”

            “ _What_?” exclaimed Jack. “Why?”

            “Because it wasn’t his. And he knew it wasn’t his because he was a vampire,” Sasha said grimly. She curled her legs under her, falling back against the couch cushions. The pliant brown leather hugged her as she sank into it. “He heard the heartbeat not long after I sensed the life in her.”

            “That’s terrible,” said Jack. “Wait, you were eleven? Wasn’t this before the Great Revelation?”

            “Yeah, this was ’96. There have always been human companions in the know, but it was becoming very popular to have ‘kept humans’. Monogamous relationships with humans that were always glamored to forget what they knew unless they were with their vampire, which is terrible. Being glamored that much really takes its toll on the human brain,” she explained. “So when Mercy went missing, Candi and I started to investigate—”

            “Oh my god,” interrupted Jack. “So you’ve always been like this? Making other people’s problem your problem?”

            Sasha shrugged, picking at a crack in the couch leather. It had been badly stitched, and she could just picture Sam Merlotte attempting to fix it himself. “She was in a really bad place. Poor girl thought she was losing her mind—she knew her boyfriend was abusing her, didn’t know he was a vampire during the day because of the glamor, and couldn’t remember how she was always covered in bruises and sometimes worse, but somehow knew it was her boyfriend… still, she helped me when she could. Kept me fed, let me crash in the back of the diner most nights. It was ’96 and Vegas; no one cared about a homeless girl. The Strip was a mess, and humans didn’t even know what the real danger was,”  
            “Vampires,” said Jack.

            “It was perfect. Drunk idiots everywhere—it was perfect for business, but also for feeding. I knew I wasn’t normal, but I didn’t know vampires existed either. Then I met one,”

            “The psycho boyfriend?” asked Jack, wide-eyed.

            “No, actually. I…bumped…into one outside of the casino I was working at,” said Sasha. “I ended up on his radar after that, and when I ended up in trouble with Mercy’s boyfriend, he sort of came to my rescue. He and the vampire he was traveling with, Malachi, took me in after that. Malachi realized what I was, because he’d interacted with my kind before,” she explained. She paused to allow him to process all that she had said. It certainly wasn’t an ordinary tale to tell, and it was the first time she’d ever told anyone else about it. After reunited with her father after she’d turned eighteen, she’d told him some of it, but that had been an extremely edited version. Vampires hadn’t come out until nearly three years after that. No, the only people that knew her story were those that it involved, and she preferred it that way. Secrets like hers had power, and she kept them locked tight.

            Jack chewed on his bottom lip for a long while, nodding slowly. Then he froze, eyes furtively glancing up at her.

            “Not to be rude or anything,” said Jack. “But, um, _what_ are you, exactly?”

            And there it was, the very question Sasha dreaded answering. She hated saying the word, simply because it was an omission of everything about herself that she denied. Bringing it up was a stark reminder of everything she had spent the last decade and a half repressing.

            She took a deep breath, and then she told him her truth.

* * *

 

            When Eric arrived at Fangtasia, he was pleased to find that his human PI had used the past day usefully, just as he had instructed. On his desk sat a file of the girl, Sasha, and after he fed from and fucked one of this new hires, he pulled it to him to study. Fangtasia wouldn’t open for hours, and he was able to lounge in his office in little more than his silk robe and a pair of track pants.

            It was a quick and easy read, and by the time he was through with it, his beautiful progeny came strutting in, showing off a new glitzy dress that distracted him for a moment. Silver had never looked so deadly.

            “I though you were over sparkly things,” said Eric, the hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Change your mind so soon?”

            “I was, but then I found this Yudashkin in the back of my closet and realized I just look too fuckin’ good to quit glitzy mini dresses. Wouldn’t you agree?”

It was a rhetorical question, because they both knew she was always fabulous, but he agreed that she looked stunning anyway, showering her with a few more compliments than usual. He noted the sheer pleasure she took from then, even though she tried to downplay it, rolling her eyes coyly as he noticed she’d dyed her hair and trimmed it a bit.

            The truth of it all, Eric was regretful to realize, he had somewhat managed to make the colossal mistake of allowing his interest in Sookie Stackhouse come between him and his progeny. He didn’t know of a more loyal progeny, and yet he was loath to admit that since the perky blonde telepath had wandered into his life, he hadn’t been treating Pamela very well. He’d had become dismissive of her.

            Now Sookie Stackhouse was gone, disappeared to who knew where—he had his suspicions, based on the too-sweet scent that lingered in the driveway of her house—and he was certain that she would return, but now he was focused on mending his mistakes with Pam. She would, in the end, always come first no matter what he felt for another woman.

            He certainly wasn’t allowing another pretty, perky human girl become his next obsession. The file before him was merely his precaution side winning out, a testament to what a good Sheriff he was, one that checked up on strange and suspicious hitchhikers traveling through his Area.

            That was all.

            “I actually came in to tell you that the next time you decide to fuck the ability to walk out of one of our dancers, do it on a night she isn’t supposed to be working,” admonished Pam, perching on the edge of his desk. Her eyes narrowed. “That looks like a dossier. Tell me its not on that little chocolate chip’s,”

            Eric’s lips quirked in amusement—he didn’t have to know Sasha Buckley very well to imagine the indignant, dirty little look she would shoot his progeny at being referred to as _little chocolate chip_. Though, to be fair to Pamela, the girl was dwarfed by either vampire, and from what he heard, the dark treat was delicious and smooth, both adjectives he’d used to describe Sasha.

            “It is,” said Eric. “Something about her, her scent, her knowledge of vampires and our ways…it’s off. For an unattached human, she knows to much.”

“Here we fucking go again. Just when I’m rid of the fucking fairy, you pick up a new obsession. Can’t you just be a normal vampire and bleed and fuck her out of your system?” asked Pam haughtily. “It’s less trouble that way.”

            “This isn’t that, Pam,” he assured her. They both knew he was referring to Sookie. He raked a hand through his blond hair; he’d missed his long locks for the longest time, but he was starting to appreciate the GQ look.

“Sure, Eric,” drawled Pam. She nodded to file. “So? Anything fascinating enough to warrant your interest?”

            “Nothing in particular,” said Eric, leaning back in his chair. The supple leather took his weight easily, molding to his frame. “Her name is Sasha Buckley, she wasn’t lying about that. She’s twenty-four years old, and she’s a resident of California, but she was born in DC. Her birthday is in December,”

            “You’re keeping Jacob Ames on payroll for _that_?”

            “She has a Master’s degree in history, and is on the mailing list for all your favorite magazines. She appears to have had a lively social life in Los Angeles—mostly after dark,”

            Eric pushed the dossier to Pam, allowing her to see the printed photos there. They were all of Sasha Buckley at different events, things like openings for restaurants and clubs, designer bashes and events.

            “So she was some sort of z-lister,” said Pam, checking over the shoes. “Who isn’t in LA?” She picked up a photo, squinting at some detail. She looked the rest over. “A z-lister with great taste in shoes. Manalos, Jimmy Choo, Louboutins… how is a recent college grad affording this? Vampire sugar daddy?”

            “The thought had crossed my mind,” admitted Eric. There was evidence that pointed to this, the evidence being mostly that she certainly seemed to know vampires and their customs, and although the file on her resume listed only one paying job after graduation, as someone with an eye for such a thing, he’d noticed that although her clothes appeared simple, most of it had been designer. “Still, if that were the case, she’d smell like a vampire. He would have claimed her,”

            “Or she,” smirked Pam.

            “Or she,” agreed Eric in amusement. “Her file says she was adopted by a woman in Los Angeles, a woman by the name of Rita Zapata. She has money from a divorce, and it seems that’s where Sasha gets her wealth from,”

            _It seems_. Eric had no reason not to trust Jacob Ames—he’d yet to fail him—but the file on Sasha Buckley seemed too clean cut. It contained some of her essays an even a published work of hers on Ancient warrior societies and their influence on each other—the section on Vikings had caught his eye—as well as the two parking tickets she’d ever received, along with her medical records, license, and even a copy of her passport. Every single piece of information was ordinary there—even her attendance at what might appear to be exclusive parties wasn’t irregular, considering it was Los Angeles, and everyone always knew _someone_ to get invited to those types of things—and nothing at all pointed to the supernatural.

            “Eric, said Pam. Her amusement had faded, overtaken by lines of worry. “Eric, you know I trust you. I always gave. But you’re my maker, and I worry. I just want to caution you. We narrowly avoided disaster with Edgington, and he may be buried in a block of cement, but there’s still Sophie-Anne and her financial disasters to contend with. Not to mention that bitch Nan Flanagan threatening us both if there’s anymore trouble in your Area. Let’s not go looking for it when it’s leaving us the hell alone for once. Do your duty as Sheriff and take care of this Peter vampire, but no more. Please.”

            Eric hummed in acknowledgment, bringing Sasha Buckley’s dossier back to face him. Pam was, of course, correct. Between drama with the club—those protesting vampire rights were targeting Fangtasia now more than ever—and then Dallas, the maenad business, the V-dealing, Russell Edgington and wolves…more than enough had happened in the last few months. Some peace and quiet was welcome, so why was he so eager to rush into trouble?

            Then Eric frowned. He was somewhat surprised that he hadn’t heard anything from the Queen. They’d both narrowly escaped with their lives from the fiasco of just over a week ago, and though she wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to force him to continue to push V, he was certain that she would have tried to rope him into paying off her debts somehow. She was being suspiciously quiet. Then again, she was likely under AVL supervision right now, trying to work out some sort of deal with them.

* * *

 

Jack appeared, for the lack of a better word, utterly gob smacked. Then the expression faded to a light frown, and he looked away, staring at nothing particular.

            “Wait, that’s it? That’s the big secret?”

            A little miffed, Sasha said, “You sound disappointed,”

            Jack shrugged, then immediately stopped, looking apologetic. “I mean, not to sound disappointed or anything, but, well, I was kind of expecting something more…something more outlandish, I guess,”

            “Well, sorry to disappoint, kid,” she grinned.

            “Okay, so you’re a witch,” said Jack. “I mean, that _is_ cool. Are you like Harry Potter?”

            “I’m pretty sure there was a vampire in ne of those books. Are you anything like him?” she asked, eyebrow quirked.

            “No! Okay, fair,” he admitted sheepishly. He drew his legs beneath him, crossing them as he rested his elbows on his knees. “So does that mean no wands? No crystal balls? There’s this lady in town, everyone says she’s a witch. She owns the rundown bookstore on Tenth. Have you met her?”

            Sasha scratched at her temple for a moment, debating. “Look, Jack, this is something very few people about me know, and it needs to stay that way. Witches as you might know them, are very commonplace. This lady you’re talking about, she may very well be. ‘Witch’ is a very, _very_ broad term. It can mean anyone from a medium to a psychic, to a practioner of Wicca. Mediums and psychics are born with powers, though they’re not particularly strong. Psychics are types of mediums; they channel supernatural forces to commune with the dead or even see the past and future. Wiccans are practioners of Wicca as a religion, and that doesn’t necessarily involve actual magic. Wiccans that use actual magic isn’t really all that rare, actually. The true, powerful witches of old have had their bloodlines diluted so much that its likely that the average person does have some ability for magic, but will go their whole life without realizing, because that’s another thing. Magic isn’t easy; there are a lot of rules to obey, and a lot of steps to spells and things. You with me so far?”

            “Yeah, yeah,” said Jack. “You said true, powerful witches. What are those?”

            Sasha took a deep breath. “True witches are the rarest. Very few still exist today. The old bloodlines are dying out, diluted with mundane blood. Now they’re known as blood witches or born witches, and they have incredible power,”

            “And you’re one of them?” Jack asked. Now he was staring at her in awe.

            “Half,” said Sasha. “I’m half. My witch blood comes from my maternal side, but my father is pretty freaking ordinary. No strangeness there.”

            Suddenly shy, Jack asked, “Can you show me? Magic I mean,”

            “No.”

            Sasha saw the disappointment cross his features and she sighed. “It’s not that simple, Jack,”

            Sasha removed the ring on her left ring finger, tossing it to him. He caught it reflexively, for a moment awed by his own reaction. Then he turned it over in his fingers, admiring it closely.

            “A ring?”

            “A talisman, really,” said Sasha, accepting it back when Jack reached across the coffee table to give it back to her. She slipped it back onto her finger where it belonged, flexing her fingers a few times. “That vampire that knew what I was? Eoin’s friend? He procured it for me. It inhibits my ability to use magic. At least it did, until that night in the cemetery. That purple light I blasted your with…somehow I overwhelmed the ring, and the rubies that worked to bind my magic shattered.

            That was her guess, anyway. Over the years she’d gathered some insight into witchcraft, though it had all been rather reluctant, usually something she’d happened across during her research for work.

            “I’m sorry,” said Jack, looking mournful. “It’s my fault your ring’s broken,”

            “It most certainly is not, Jack,” said Sasha. “It would have happened sooner or later, and I’m sure as hell glad it happened when it did,”

            Jack smiled a little at her. His eyes landed on her ring again. “So what now, without it? Can you get another?”

            That was the million-dollar question. Sasha had been wearing that ring for thirteen years now, after Malachi had reluctantly offered it to her. She’d deemed her magic too unpredictable to contain, and that ring had been her lifeline to retaining a normal life. Well, semi-normal, anyway.

            “Now I need another similar artifact. My friend is searching for a replacement, but the problem is that you need powerful magic to make one, and they don’t come easily. This was made some two centuries ago,” said Sasha.

            “Wait, if your ring is broken, why can’t you use magic?” asked Jack. “I mean, you did that purple light-blast thing—that was magic,”

            “That was pure instinct,” admitted Sasha. “If I had to do it again, I don’t know that I could. Power like that, it’s locked into my emotions, so being able to control them will be instrumental to making sure I don’t accidentally do that were I could get exposed or worse, I hurt someone. That’s something we’ll both have to work on. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, your emotions are heightened now, and they’re susceptible to swift changes,”

Jack nodded. “But aren’t you curious? I mean, if I had power like that, I’d want to use it!”

            “I’m not trained, Jack, and this isn’t something to be played with—I’m a ticking time bomb. If my mother had stuck around long enough, she would have been the one to teach me how to handle all of this,” Sasha shook her head. “She didn’t see fit to, and I don’t want anything to do with it. It’s more trouble than it’s worth—why do you think the old bloodlines are dying out?”

            At a loss, Jack could only shrug. “I don’t know,”    

            “The AVL forming has helped ease tension between monarchs, but once upon a time it wasn’t so simple. A vampire king or queen might be like any human monarch—they might be satisfied with their territory, or they might want more. Some of the bloodiest wars in history humans have no ideas even occurred, because they happened between vampire kingdoms. Vampires are formidable opponents—now imagine if you had an all powerful witch on your side? Of course, witches and vampires have had a long history of not getting alone, so when witches were found not to be malleable to a vampire’s desires—a blood witch can’t be glamored, for instance—then they were killed,”

            “I-I didn’t think of that,” stammered Jack. “Shit, Sasha, I won’t tell anyone— _ever_ ,” he pledged. She smiled weakly at him.

            “I believe you, Jack. Do you see how lucky I was to have found Eoin and his friends? Another vampire would have either killed me or enslaved me. I ended up with a group of vampires that merely saw an orphan to be raised, because Eoin’s companion realized what I was and that I was as good as dead without them,”           

            “Is that why Eric Northman is so interested in you?” asked Jack. Sasha’s nose wrinkled at the mention of the Sheriff. Had the situation not been so precarious she would have been so interested in him—but as it were, she had to push down her fascination with him as a walking artifact and bible of Viking knowledge. He was an intuitive vampire, and he knew something was up. She just had to dance around him until she could hit the road. He might have been a respectable Sheriff, but there was no telling what he’d do if he found out the truth about her.

* * *

 

Sasha stole away to the bathroom after Jack settled into the living room for a movie. With the shower running, she took a deep breath, knowing that it was time to make The Dreaded Phone call. Her heart began hammering in her chest in time with the beeping of the line.

            Just when she thought he might never answer, Eoin’s Irish drawl trickled through the line, his contempt sharp.

            “ _Ye’ve got a lot of nerve callin’ me, little dove. If I knew just where ye’d driven my damn car to, I’d come over there and wring yet little neck,_ ”

            Even as it intoned threats of bodily harm and even though her stomach had been tied up into knots, the voice of her favorite Irishman brought tears of relief to her eyes, and she realized just how much she missed home. It hadn’t even been a full week, but not knowing when she’d be going back was more difficult than she had imagined.

            “I miss you too, Eoin,” she said with a watery laugh. “And the car’s fine, by the way,”

            “Fuckin’ hell, dove I don’t care about the blood car! You’re the idiot girl that took off in the middle of the day. You’re alive, at least,” said Eoin.

Sasha climbed into the bathtub, laying against the cold ceramic as she propped her feet up on the edge. “I left a note,” she told him defensively.

            “Yeah, Malachi mentioned. He also forbade me from coming after you, so you have him to thank for your neck still being intact. Where the hell are you now, anyway?”

            Malachi. A small smile formed on her lips. At the heart of it all, it was he who knew her best, and he was proving it all over again. He understood and respected she needed space and time to get over the events of the past year.

            “Believe it or not,” said Sasha. “But I’m in Louisiana,”

            “I hope I heard wrong, and I hope you’re talking about the hick state your father lives in. The same one that mad, murderous king was last spotted in? Sasha, dove,” groaned Eoin. “You’re at least being smart and traveling by day, staying in at night and away from dangerous vampires? Vampires in general, really?”

            Sasha bit her lip, thoughts turning to the vampire in her living room, then to the Viking. “Oh yeah, totally,”

            “That’s something, at least,” mumbled Eoin. “Because the place has been a hotbed for trouble lately, and you’d be an idiot to get involved,”

            “I hear you, loud and clear,” said Sasha, internally cursing herself. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d ever directly lied to Eoin McGinty. Her gaze dropped down to the gold band on her finger. She cleared her throat and then, ever oh-so innocently, she asked, “I know he’s probably busy, but would you mind, sometime in the near future, asking Malachi if, you know, there’s the possibility of him procuring another piece of jewelry for me?”

            “I hope you’re calling to tell me you lost the Cartier he gave you last Christmas,” said Eoin.

            “Eoin—“

            She broke off as Eoin cursed loudly and creatively and in several languages on the other end of the line. Patiently, she waited until he was done.

            “What the hell did you do _?_ ”

            “I don’t need a lecture, Eoin,” she told him, tapping her nails against the edge of the tub. “Will you just talk to him for me? Please?”

            “Why don’t you talk to him yourself?”

His tone was surprisingly soft, uncharacteristically enough that it brought another round of wetness to her eyes. Clearing her throat and shaking her head like it would combat the thoughts away, she said, “I called you, all right? Just tell him this one isn’t working anymore, and if he has any leads on a replacement, that I’d greatly appreciate it,”

“Aye, I’ll tell him, but…” Eoin sighed. “Just, whatever the hell it is you’re doing or you’re looking for, will you please be careful? Sometimes I worry you’re too comfortable around my kind. You’re not one of us yet, dove,”

“Yea, yeah, I know,” muttered Sasha. Her fingers came up to dance against the column of her neck as she tried to picture herself with fang marks. She couldn’t. Perhaps it had been because she’d spent so long entrenched in the world of vampires, but she’d become so used to being the human in the room. She had grown up very aware of her beating heart and the warm blood in her veins, of the fragility of her flesh and bones, of her fundamental needs as a human. It was impossible not to appreciate the very basics of what made her human when she was surrounded by vampires; she would be lying if she didn’t find herself drawn to vampires, but did she want to be one? 

It was difficult to say.

“Is that where you’ll be? Louisiana?” asked Eoin. Her hand dropped back to her lap.

“For the next few weeks, yeah,” said Sasha. “Don’t worry about me,”

“That depends. Are you there because you’re seeing your prick of a father?”

Sasha had reconnected with her father during her freshman year in college, and they maintained a very strained relationship since. They’d seen each other a handful of times since then, and she’d even spent a Christmas with him and his new family one-year, but it was a rocky relationship. She resented him for her childhood, he resented her for running away. Eoin, though he had never met the man, had an intense dislike for her father, and he voiced it every chance he had. But even Eoin might have preferred her father to the situation she currently found herself in.

“He doesn’t even know I’m here. I’m not telling him. I was only meant to be passing through the state, anyway,” said Sasha. Then, because she really didn’t want to be talking about her biological father, she added, “I only got stranded here because your stupid car broke down,”

That set Eoin off, successfully diverting his attention as he defended the Camaro and his skills as a mechanic, insulted her driving and general ineptitude for anything mechanical and told her it served her right for stealing his car in the first place. She bantered with him, falling back to the comfortable routine, savoring it if only for a little while. 

 


End file.
